


One if By Land, Two if By Sea

by seasaltstories, sopdetly, Talli



Series: Shield Bay & Beyond [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Almost Forty-Year-Olds, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boat Sex, Dealing with Old Grief, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Late-Thirties, Dog - Freeform, Dubious Boat Safety Instruction, Explicit Consent, FWB - Friends With Boats, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Grief, Grief for Parent, HOH Clint Barton, Happily Ever After, Kissing, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, References to Past Canon Deaths, Rimming, Sex, Smut, Soul-Searching, Summer Fling, Summer Romance, Switching, Thor Odinson - Freeform, Trans Becca Barnes, Young Avengers Cameos, alternating pov, fuck capitalism, post-serum Steve, sam is a good bro, this fic might make you hungry, twins Bucky and becca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 46,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasaltstories/pseuds/seasaltstories, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopdetly/pseuds/sopdetly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talli/pseuds/Talli
Summary: Burnt out from his high-powered ad job, Bucky is in need of a serious vacation. He heads for idyllic Shield Bay, MA for the summer with his dog, hoping to relax and gain a bit of perspective. On the recommendation of a friendly restaurateur, he heads to Rogers Rentals where he meets burly, beautiful, boat renter Steve. Neither of them is looking for a relationship, but they can have a good time for the summer. After all, they’re adults, they can totally handle just fooling around for a few months without making it more complicated. Simple.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, minor Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau - Relationship, minor Natasha Romanaoff/Clint Barton
Series: Shield Bay & Beyond [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072430
Comments: 74
Kudos: 226
Collections: Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gang, we did it. Whew. I've been in this fandom for about 18 months now, and when I started poking at some ideas to write my own Stucky fics, I never imagined I'd be part of such a great event. Hats off to all the NASBB mods, authors, artists, betas, sensitivity readers, and cheerleaders: you have all made this a pleasure, an event worth all the stress of writing lots of words on a deadline!
> 
> It's been absolutely fabulous having [Talli](https://twitter.com/tallihoozoo) and [Emily](https://twitter.com/seasaltstories) as my artists. Thank you both for working with me and producing beautiful art of which I hope my words are worthy. Your thoughts, ideas, and inspiration have made the story richer, and your encouragement has ensured I got it done! 
> 
> And then there's [Em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theemdash)—my biggest cheerleader, my editor, my best friend. This fic would not exist without her in so many ways, from encouraging me to go with this idea when I broke down and wasn't able to go with the first story idea I'd planned for the NASBB, to teasing me when I thought this might max out at 30K, to editing with such precision and care even when I was having anxiety attacks and being my dramatic Scorpio self—all while finishing up and posting her own NASBB offering. If the sexy bits get you hot under the collar, please know it's all her! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has shown excitement to snippets and teases I've shared, and I hope you enjoy the end result.

Most days, Bucky wakes to a sharp, blaring alarm clock on the right side of his bed. He's had the clock since he was twelve years old, and it's set on his bedside table at the precise position to roll over and hit with his left hand. It even goes off on weekends, though then he's more inclined to flop over and go back to sleep.

But today, there's no alarm, only silence. Today, there's a rough, wet lap of a tongue against his arm, hot breath, and then—finally startling him out of his sleep—a cold nose.

"Sully! Jesus." Bucky opens his eyes long enough to confirm it's his German Shepherd sitting at his bedside, where Bucky's arm hangs over the side of the bed. "What the hell, bud? What time is it?" Bucky turns to where the clock should be, but the bedside table only has a silver lamp with a sky blue shade. Bucky has never bought a lamp like it in his life, and for a moment, he's utterly thrown.

He rolls to his back, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and more unfamiliar things become clear. The pillows are too soft, the duvet below him too fluffy. The light isn't right as it streams in through a window that's on the wrong side of the room. Framed pictures of a family scatter the dresser, and it isn't Bucky's family.

Shield Bay, Massachusetts. He's renting a house for the summer and arrived yesterday evening. That unfamiliar family? They own this house on the coast and that lamp Bucky would never buy. Everything is exactly as it should be.

He takes a deep breath, feels around behind the lamp for the water bottle he set out last night, and takes a long drink to wash the taste of unfamiliarity from his mouth. Sully whines and rests his chin on top of the duvet, looking at his master with wide, soulful eyes that speak to a deep, primal need.

"Need to go out, pal?" Bucky asks, sleep still stuck in his throat. "We didn't get to look around much last night, huh? Been a long time since I had a vacation. Forgot how to do it." He slides out of bed and bends to give Sully some pets to his head and back. Sully's fluffy tail wags, the only sign of excitement from the naturally stoic dog. "Let me find some shoes."

He grabs his phone from where it's plugged in next to his pillow. As he moves around the bed, wondering where he kicked his shoes off last night, he adjusts the duvet, saving it from sliding off. He'll need to get sheets on the bed for tonight, and so much more actually unpacked and settled.

Shoes on and dog at his heels, Bucky rounds the corner from the master bedroom to the backdoor. More family photos are on display on the walls: a black woman with a wide smile, a white woman with a devilish look in her eyes, and a young, black girl holding up awards and ribbons with pride. He smiles; they look like a nice family. Their home is immaculate, if not necessarily set up for letting out to renters, which probably has to do with why it was available for Bucky to rent on short notice.

He stops in front of a picture of just the women, clearly from a decade or so ago, even if the "P-Town Pride 2005" didn't make that obvious. They must be about his age, because they look like maybe they, too, were just out of college in '05. Since then, they've had a daughter and made a gorgeous home here. Bucky started working at the firm of Pierce & Rumlow that same year and... well, he's still there. Hmm.

Bucky lets Sully into the side yard to do his business, the cooler ocean air catching in his nostrils and waking him up. Light breaks over the misty waves, sparkling even in the meager sun. Still bleary, he snaps a picture, starting a vacation album.

The large windows from the kitchen offer a peek at the ocean, adding to the light and airy ambiance. Frosted glass cupboards, white subway tile, quartz countertops that add just a hint of warmth to the room, it's nothing like Bucky's Manhattan apartment that's all stainless steel and dark countertops that hide every stain.

The crate with all of Sully's food and treats sits in the entry to the living room, which he hasn't even looked at yet, but from the flow of the hardwood floors throughout the house, he's willing to bet it's a unified theme.

"Not hungry last night, huh?" Sully's dinner hasn't been touched, but Bucky refreshes the water bowl, scritching behind Sully's ears. "It's been a while since we've gone to a new place. You take your time, okay?"

His phone buzzes, and his hand immediately goes to his pocket, but then he stops and frowns. No one is supposed to contact him on vacation, that was the deal. It's a Sunday, though, and while a distinct lack of work-life balance is endemic to P&R's top account managers—including Bucky—nothing too important should even be in play this early. He takes a deep breath and looks at his phone, and grins when it's just a text from one of his sisters.

 _ **Becca:** you better be in Massachusetts or i'll kick your ass_ 😠

Chuckling, he sends the picture of the ocean and replies back, _No ass-kicking necessary. Thanks for the threats to get me here._

Text sent, dog cared for, he turns to breakfast. The groceries he brought with him are meager but necessary: bacon, egg, and cheese, bagels from his favorite shop. While he hopes he'll find a place up here that does a somewhat decent BEC, for his first morning he has no desire to be adventurous. As he waits for the bacon to crisp up in the oven, Becca responds back again, detailing how much he owes her for all of her, _ahem_ , gentle encouragement, which didn't at all include kidnapping plans.

While Bucky assembles his BEC, Sully finally starts to eat and drink, which releases tension Bucky didn't even realize he was carrying. He takes his food through the front room, idly noting a big fireplace, TV, and a deep, squashy-looking sectional sofa aimed at them. The front door leads to a screened in porch, furnished with a loveseat and a couple chairs, plus a coffee table made from reclaimed wood, all arranged around the view. And what a view it is.

Bucky sits and puts his feet up on the table, taking in a deep breath of cool, ocean air. He shivers a bit, and pulls out his phone again to check the weather. He has to change it from Manhattan to Shield Bay, and then confirms this last morning of May is in the fifties, only rising to the high sixties this afternoon.

Bucky closes out the weather app, instinctively going for his work email, but he's deleted the app and replaced it with a meditation app—and this is exactly why. As much as he wants this break, he absolutely didn't trust himself to fully stay away for the entire summer.

A fifteen-minute guided meditation for relaxation sounds right, so he hits play, forgoing his usual classical music and letting the waves, wind, and calling birds be a natural soundtrack. At some point Sully comes to lie at his feet, but he notes it and moves on, as instructed. After fifteen minutes, Bucky feels a little clearer, and the salty air has made his deep breaths more invigorating than usual.

He looks down at Sully, still waiting patiently at Bucky's feet. "You ready to explore?"

Sully perks up and gets to his back haunches, ready to go when Bucky is.

They head out towards the beach to see what's up there. Sully drags Bucky into the dunes more than once, and then checks out the frothy water as it ebbs and flows at the shoreline. The beach isn't as sandy as Bucky expected, with a lot more rocks and pebbles to it. Still, he didn't come to build sandcastles, and as long as he wears his sneakers, walking Sully here will be fine.

They head south, towards town. The houses creep up towards the beach more, the dunes start to shrink. First there are smaller houses on smaller plots, with other houses behind, and then the buildings shift from simple bungalows to bigger homes, duplexes. He thinks on the other side of the public beach there's a hotel; driving in he'd seen a _Vacancy_ sign flashing in neon. It's still early, so there isn't much action on the shore, but he can see a number of empty slips in the marina, either reserved for vacationers who haven’t arrived yet, or else locals who are out fishing already.

From what he's read online, it's possible to walk to the beach and marina from the town center thanks to a system of cement sidewalks and weatherproof composite boardwalks over the sandy dunes. He hasn't seen where those boardwalks reach the beach yet, so they must be a little further up still. A parking lot sits closer to the marina, for those coming in from the outskirts of town. He probably will make use of it sometimes, even though the walk shouldn’t be too bad, and Sully certainly will enjoy getting a close-up sniff into the dunes.

Just past the largest of the hotels sits a little café with a side open to the ocean. A sign says it's open and pet-friendly, and a chalk drawing of a cup of coffee speaks deeply to Bucky's soul.

Bucky coaxes Sully up onto the boardwalk so they can find a seat. Before long, a slight young woman with long red hair approaches them and introduces herself as Wanda. When she asks for his order, her Slavic-tinted accent suggests she's not a local by birth, though enough of it is gone that she might have lived here for a while now.

"I'll just have a regular latte, thanks," Bucky says, rubbing Sully's head in thanks for sitting still like the Good Boy that he is.

"Of course," Wanda replies. "And who's this?" she asks, nodding to Sully but not reaching for him.

"This is Sully. He's on his leash, but he's a former police dog, so he's very well trained, I promise."

Wanda beams at him. "I'm sure he is. Would he like anything? We do have a few dog biscuits and treats on hand, just in case."

Bucky shakes his head, chuckling. "No thanks. He gets too many already. But I'm sure I'll stop by again. I'm here for the summer, staying about a half-mile down the beach? So maybe next time."

The drink is excellent, and when he goes inside to pay, he spots a display of strawberry muffins. Unfortunately Bucky's not nearly as good at resisting the temptation for himself as he is for Sully. He orders one to go, already planning an afternoon snack. Wanda packs it carefully in a white bag with the café's name—The Scarlet Brew—and passes him a loyalty card, offering him a free drink for every ten purchased.

They take their time wandering back to their place. Sully whines at a couple seagulls, and Bucky lets him chase a few pieces of driftwood. Distracted by the view of the ocean and watching Sully as he inspects the water's edge, Bucky walks past the house and has to double back, having passed three other houses, too.

The day hasn't hit its warmest yet, and the wind off the ocean keeps it cooler than Bucky's used to living in Manhattan. Still, that doesn't stop Bucky from digging through the shed to find some of the beach chairs and dragging one down onto the bit of property before the dunes. They give him some shelter from the wind as he pops in his air pods and turns on a podcast. He only gets about twenty minutes into learning about the history of the Salem witch trials before he crashes into an unexpected nap.

* * *

The next day, he leaves Sully in the house and heads into town to do some more exploring. He parks in the free lot for the beach—it's only free until the week before the Fourth, a sign alerts him—and sets out with his least "I'm from the city" look he could manage with his wardrobe. His jeans are probably too skinny and neat, and his polo shirt is likely a dead giveaway, but at least he's in scuffed Chucks and a baseball cap and aviators. Maybe he's from the suburbs.

He spends the morning wandering around, poking into different tourist trap shops. He walks out of each shop empty-handed, but makes a few purchases at a general store, glad they have a couple of small needs he hadn't thought to bring up on his own, and a few things he couldn't find in Manhattan.

When he's done, he drops his purchases at his car and looks around for a place to get lunch. A tidy-looking restaurant called A Widow's Bite advertises some ukha, and that's enough to win over Bucky's Russian-heritage tastebuds; he orders a bowl and an iced tea. Since the restaurant is sparsely filled with mostly locals at the bar, he also gets the owner's attention for free.

Natasha—who may or may not be a widow, but Bucky thinks if she is, there's a fair chance she made herself that way—sits at the table across from him and happily answers any questions he has about the town. She clearly knows this place well, it's home for her, and she's eager to tell someone new her favorite details.

She lights up in particular when Bucky asks about maybe finding a boat to rent, that he'd like to go out on the ocean sometimes.

"Rogers' Rentals," she says firmly, already pulling out a pen and grabbing a napkin to write it down for him. "He's on the marina, can't miss his little shanty of an office. He's the best if you want to be able to rent it out for yourself." She draws a little map and makes sure he takes it after he's finished his meal and paid with a handsome tip.

"Come back and tell me how it goes," she says with a wink, which leaves Bucky puzzled, but intrigued as he heads out into town.

* * *

Bucky walks up the dock to the little shack—a shanty, as Nat called it. There's no sign to indicate a company name or anything, but there _is_ a tall, burly man in a light-weight knit sweater, sleeves pushed up to reveal thick, muscular forearms. He's bent over, wrapping thick ropes around a pole on the dock. Bucky is gonna have to go back and leave Nat a bigger tip.

He clears his throat, catching the man's attention, eyes squinting against the sun. Beneath a full beard, the man’s lips twitch down briefly.

"I've only got the two boats right now," he says, low and grumbly. Bucky imagines what the rumble might feel like with his cheek pressed against that chest. "And this whole deal's off if you suggest that maybe you need a bigger one."

Bucky blinks. "Um. I'm just looking for myself, so I don't think I'll need anything bigger?"

The man—Rogers, he presumes—stares at him a moment longer, then grins. The grin is bright, blinding like the sun on the sea. Bucky wonders if male selkies exist, because this dude could possibly be one.

"Sorry, man. I get too many _Jaws_ jokes over the summer."

"I've never seen _Jaws_."

"I'm both relieved and horrified," Rogers says, but he steps forward and holds his hand out to Bucky. "Steve Rogers. How long are you here for?"

Bucky shakes his hand, both surprised and not at how strong the grip is. "For the summer, through Labor Day. And I'm Bucky."

Steve seems intrigued, his eyebrows arching up a bit. "All summer? That's rare, at least for me not to already know you. Where are you staying?"

Bucky looks around as he tries to get oriented. "Uh. A bit north of here? The Danvers property?"

"Oh, right, Carol told me she and Maria were headed up to the woods this year." Steve nods, then gestures over to the boats. "So you're looking to rent a boat? I know they don't have their own dock space, so I'm guessin' you didn't bring up your own."

"No, no boat of my own, ha. And I don't know how often I'll want to rent, but it seemed like, y'know, I'm here for this long, I should probably get out on the water sometimes."

"You fish?"

Bucky doesn't know if he's hiding his city boy attributes that well, or if Steve is being kind by not assuming. "Never had a fish in my life that wasn't either cooked or ready to cook." Steve chuckles, which makes Bucky think that Steve's being nice. "It could be fun to go fishing some day, but I'd probably be better off starting in a lake or something."

"Yeah, maybe hold off on that. So, you're basically looking to cruise around, maybe anchor and float a bit? I wouldn't recommend swimming out there, but there's a nice cove just fifteen minutes by water that you could get to, if you wanted someplace more protected."

"Probably mostly the cruising and the floating, but yeah."

Steve nods decisively, then reaches into the open window of the little shanty and pulls out a laminated page. It looks like a menu, and as Bucky takes it, he realizes that's basically what it is. It lists all of Steve's rental options, boat sizes and lengths of the rentals, as well as frequency.

He looks it over for a moment, then points to one of the "menu" items. "So, with this one, I could have a hold on it for one day every week?" Steve peers over Bucky's shoulder—his thick-soled boots and Bucky's flimsy Chucks amplify the couple inches height difference between them—and Bucky can feel the warmth from his body even with the sun beating down on them.

"That's an option, yep. We usually get families who come for a week or two and pick a recurring plan so they don't get the kids excited one morning and then come to find out all the boats are out."

"How many boats do you usually rent out at a time?"

Steve shifts away from Bucky, leaning against the side of the shack. Bucky immediately misses his presence, but now he can probably concentrate on making a decision about a boat. "By the time we're really up and running, I've got eight boats I rent."

"You said only two right now?"

"Yeah, most are still getting maintenance after the winter. It's early yet, after all." He smiles warmly. "But that's good for you, especially if you want to set up something regular."

Bucky nods, thinking it over. "What do I lose if I change my mind? I'm assuming I'm putting a deposit down for the whole summer?"

"Depends when you decide to cancel and why." He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, to nowhere in particular. "If you're tellin' me you're headed down to Arthur's instead, I might just hafta charge you for the whole season, on principle."

Bucky snorts. "No ditching you for the competition, then. Actually, what I'm mostly worried about is that I'll take the boat out once or twice and feel like that's all I need, that I won't want to go out again."

Steve nods and twists his lips, thinking. "That's reasonable. But how about this: we'll schedule a training session for tomorrow or the day after. I'll take you out, teach you how to run the boat. And then you can see if the sea air in your hair gives you a thrill that you want to replicate once a week."

Bucky looks over the list of options again, noting particularly that there's no "training session" listed. He looks back at Steve, who is biting his lip and holding his arms a little more stiffly than he had been before. He's uncertain, clueing Bucky in that this isn't a normal service Steve offers to renters.

So Bucky smiles back, holding Steve's gaze. "Yeah, that sounds like a great idea. Tomorrow morning?" They shake on it, and Bucky holds on a little longer than strictly necessary.

* * *

It's earlier than Bucky planned to be waking up during this vacation, but Steve doesn't want to open later than noon, so he's fitting in this off-the-menu training beforehand. Bucky showers quickly, and as he air dries, he looks over his reflection. Normally he'd gel his hair, but Steve might laugh at him for it, considering they're about to go speeding through the water. For a moment, the corners of his lips quirk as he thinks of Steve, but he shakes his head. There's no way Steve is putting any thought into how to dress for Bucky this morning. He grabs a navy blue long-sleeve tee and a pair of white shorts. Sully looks up with interest as he grabs his sneakers.

"Sorry, buddy. I'm off again for a while. But I'll be home midday? We'll walk around after that." He feeds Sully and gets him set up to spend some hours alone. He feels a little bad, leaving Sully for long stretches at a time when he’s not even going to work, but good ol' Sully's used to entertaining himself.

"Hang in there, pal," he says as he heads out the door. "I'll see you in a while."

He drives into town, parks at the beach lot, and heads down to the marina again. Shield Bay looks quiet this morning, but the marina is busy with fishermen getting ready to head out for the day.

"Pardon me!" booms a voice. Bucky turns around and lets out a literal gasp at the enormous man striding up quickly behind him. He's dressed in a turtleneck and a vest, his biceps bulging, a knit cap atop a blond, bearded face. Bucky scuttles to the side, ducking a little as the man barrels past, carrying a huge tangle of nets. Once he's past, Bucky watches him go for a moment, then regroups and heads to the Rogers' Rentals shack. Shanty. Whatever. He'll ask Steve today which he prefers.

While the shanty-shack is still shuttered, Steve’s already arrived, moving around in a boat behind it. Steve wears a dark gray sweatshirt and a red beanie against this morning's chill. His back is broad at the shoulders, and the sweatshirt is tight enough that Bucky can tell even better than yesterday that Steve's torso narrows sinfully to his waist where a pair of knee-length khaki shorts draw tight around his thighs. Jesus. Why does he do these things to himself?

Well, really, he _wants_ to "do this thing" to himself, but he has a whole summer in this town—he can take his time to consider his options.

He clears his throat. "Uh, Steve? Hi?"

Steve stands quickly and turns, causing the boat to list to one side, but Steve doesn't lose his balance at all. "Hey, good morning!" He grins and the gray morning feels brighter already. "You bring your sea legs?"

Bucky laughs a bit, nervous as he scratches at the back of his neck. "I brought my legs. I don't know how sea-worthy they are."

Steve looks at Bucky's legs blatantly. Bucky has shorts on, which he regrets a little right now, but his only jeans are skinny jeans, and he didn't think they would be comfortable on the boat.

"They look great to me." Steve's gaze lingers a moment longer, and then he drags his eyes up to Bucky's face again. Bucky can feel his cheeks heating up, and in response, Steve's grin widens. So. _Oh_.

Bucky stands straight, pulls in a quick breath for fortification, and then walks closer to the boat, a strut and swagger to his steps. "Permission to come aboard, Captain?" He can't tell if it came out as flirty as he meant it, but Steve laughs softly and holds out his hand to Bucky, so at least it didn't hurt.

"Come on, landlubber. I've got some things to teach you."

Bucky takes Steve's hand, holding it tightly as he steps into the boat, feeling it sway with his new weight. It settles, and Bucky thinks he's probably steady. He lets go, fingers trailing across Steve's palm. "What do we start with? Tying up rope?"

"Depends. Do you have much experience with rope?" Steve looks amused, his lips quirked and his eyes bright. Bucky's encouraged to keep going along with the soft tease.

"I'm used to other hardware," he admits.

"Hardware, huh?" Steve snickers.

"Yes, but the boat is usually smaller," says Bucky, and they both end up snorting giggles. "Okay, okay!" Bucky says after a moment. "Let's really start with the basics."

Steve nods, and he does look a little more serious. "Right. So we always start with safety. And part of being safe is knowing the parts of the boat."

Bucky listens attentively as Steve walks him around the boat, using the very boaty terms, that Bucky is absolutely not retaining. Steve talks with his large hands, and Bucky can only think about how rough the one was against his own softer, manicured hand. He gets distracted thinking about how Steve's hands might feel against his thighs.

Steve stops talking, which Bucky realizes a moment later when Steve looks at him with an utterly smug grin on his face.

"Did you catch anything I said?"

"Yes!" Bucky says, desperately trying to remember even one (1) single thing Steve said. "I mean. I know you _were_ saying things, I'm pretty confident in saying that."

Steve laughs and shakes his head, ducking a bit, too. Is he bashful? His cheeks bunch at the top of his beard, and Bucky's lips want to rest there, feel the warmth of that sea-nourished skin. "Right," Steve says. "I know sometimes it's easier to get this stuff when you see it in action, so let's head out on the water, and I'll go through everything again as we go." He opens up a compartment at the back—is that aft? or port?—and pulls out two life jackets. "Suit up, buddy. Gotta be safe."

Bucky takes the orange Fashion Don't and pulls it on, snapping the straps in place and cinching it securely. "You're very big on doing things safely."

"I'm always safe."

And isn't that good information to have?

Steve gets the boat running and instructs Bucky to untie the ropes off the dock. Within minutes, they're chugging out of the marina. Steve points to different buoys and explains which ones are for navigation and which are for speed, and now Bucky really does try to pay attention, because he knows this is important for keeping others safe, too. He watches Steve handle the controls, though he still finds the time to admire the confident man.

Soon, Bucky's given the wheel, and he drives them cautiously around the water—the ocean! Steve coaxes him to rev up the speed until he's cutting through the waves like a knife through chunky peanut butter. The boat is big enough that there's a windshield, but he still can feel the wind whipping through his hair. His curls are _living_.

Eventually, Steve has him throttle down and they cut the engine. The sun's well up in the sky as the early hours have turned to late morning, and it's shaping up to be a beautiful day. The ocean isn't flat, but it is relatively calm, so they bob gently with the waves.

"Hey, so how did all that feel?" Steve asks, resting his backside against the edge of the boat, arms crossed against his chest, accentuating his biceps and pecs nicely. "Did you feel comfortable?"

Bucky nods, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, it seemed pretty simple, handles well. You think you'll trust me with it?"

"Well." Steve shrugs. "You're going to be signing a lot of paperwork that says you're responsible for fucking up my boat, so." He grins, his smile sparkling beneath his wind-mussed blonde hair. "I think you'll be fine, but I can send you off with the owner's manual if you're a book learner instead?"

Bucky actually is, but this seems pretty straight-forward. "I think I got it." He looks at the far away coastline, shielding his eyes. "Should have brought some sunglasses."

"Yes, they're necessary. If you don't have a pair with a strap, then get one. Or else just get _really_ cheap ones that you won't cry over when they fall overboard."

"When?"

Steve nods decisively. "When. It's in the contract—that I'm not responsible for the shit you lose overboard. I also have a safe space for you to keep your car keys back in my hut."

Bucky tilts his head. "Hut? The woman who told me to come to your place was calling it a shanty."

Steve's eyes widen. "Nat? When did you talk to Nat?"

"Oh." Bucky shrugs. "That first day I came by? I'd been poking around town and stopped at her place for lunch. She sat down and talked to me, gave me some suggestions about what to do, where to go. And she said to check out your shanty." He grins, feeling cheeky, and that feeling increases as he sees Steve's cheeks get a little pinker. "Why?"

"She's poking her nose in," Steve admits. "She likes to... help."

" _Oh_." Bucky licks his lips. "What's she need to help you with, Steve?"

He expects Steve to blush again, look away, but Steve doesn't get shy. Instead, Steve meets Bucky's eyes directly. "Maybe you'll find out, Bucky."

* * *

Steve pulls up a contract on his phone, and while he pilots them back to shore, Bucky tries to fill it out, selecting Wednesdays as his day, all-day hold, distractingly hot boat renter a perk. Bucky’s signature on the contract is a mess, and between reading the contract and eyeing Steve, he’s not entirely sure how they get back to land. Bucky assumes the boat was used as a method of transportation, and he can vaguely remember feeling like Steve was driving it a bit faster than normal. Or possibly driving it faster than safe.

Back at the dock, Steve ties up the boat with some fancy knots. “You won’t have to learn these. Someone will handle tying it up when you get back each time,” Steve says, much to Bucky’s relief, because he is not at all paying attention to how Steve ties the knots.

What he _is_ paying attention to, absolutely, is how Steve’s shorts are drawn tight around his ass while he bends over to handle the ropes. This man is stupidly hot and seems actually into Bucky, which becomes more apparent when Steve steps into Bucky’s space and says, “You wanna get the hell outta here?”

Trying to not seem so easy, Bucky lifts an eyebrow, looking up at Steve. Steve’s sneakers bring them closer in height, though Steve still has a couple inches on Bucky. “Now? Where would we go?” Bucky’s available, but isn’t Steve opening at noon?

Steve shugs. "No rentals scheduled today. Got an employee who can watch the hut." He smirks. "Shanty. I can take some... personal time."

"And here I thought you'd be showing me around your shanty." Bucky smirks back. "Hut."

Steve huffs a short laugh. "Okay, you jerk. You coming back to my place right now, or you got something better to do?"

Oh, he just left that right there for Bucky to pick up, didn't he? "I think I got somethin' real good to do, punk." He winks and then steps to the side past Steve. After a few steps, he stops and looks back. Steve's watching him, looking a little glazed over, so Bucky clears his throat, gestures with his head, and starts strolling easily off the dock back to the path to the parking lot.

He doesn't look back again, but he imagines Steve is quickly locking up the shanty-hut, maybe letting his employee know to get to work earlier than usual. Bucky's halfway to the parking lot when he hears feet pounding on the boards, and then a warm body pulls up on his left. Steve's not out of breath, but Bucky feels a little like his heart's racing.

"I'm parked on the far end," Steve says, gesturing towards a truck that's parked alone in a corner. "You want to drive yourself, or...?"

"You coming back here later?" Bucky doesn't say "after," even if that's what he really means.

"I'll bring you back to your car, yeah." Steve's voice holds amusement, and that relaxes Bucky a bit, even though he hadn't realized he was tense.

The thing is, this isn't really Bucky's style. He isn't a wait-three-dates guy—not by a long-shot—but he usually at least goes on _one_ date before going home with someone new. Not that there's been anyone in a while. Bucky doesn't go to bars anymore, and he doesn't like the young guys on Grindr who only hope he'll be their sugar daddy. So maybe that's why he doesn't want to be careful and picky now, when he's caught the attention of someone who seems around his age and who owns his own business and clearly isn't looking for someone to take care of him.

Steve's truck is littered with tools and various mechanical things in the truck bed, and a crumpled up Dunkin' bag, sandwich wrap, and a few used napkins clutter the passenger seat. Bucky calmly brushes them aside, not standing on ceremony here. The engine starts up and the radio comes on, tuned to NPR. Without a word, Steve puts the truck in reverse and heads out to the road.

They don't talk as Steve drives, maybe afraid of breaking this little spell between them, and Terri Gross's calm voice fills the space. Steve starts on the main road in the direction of Bucky's rental house, but they go past it by maybe a mile before Steve turns left, away from the ocean and up a hill into the woods. Bucky's surprised; he would have guessed Steve lived right on the coast.

He understands, though, when they pull into a long driveway and a clearing opens before them. The back of the small cabin settles into the woods, while the front is wide open, and they're high enough that all Bucky can see is the ocean. "Wow," he whispers, the first word he's spoken since they got in the car.

"Not bad, is it?" Steve asks, cutting the engine and opening his door.

Bucky gets out and takes a deep breath. He can still smell the salt of the ocean, but now it's mingled with the pine trees. "How do you ever leave this place?" They start walking together towards the cabin that Steve must call home, and Bucky steals a glance at his companion, smiling at the look of pride on his face.

"Mostly I know I have to go make money to be able to keep this place in top shape," Steve says with a laugh. "But it's good to leave it, so that I can come home to it. You stay in one place too long, it all starts to fade away."

"Yeah," Bucky says, and he hopes that the punch he felt in his gut isn't audible in his voice. Bucky knows too much about staying somewhere too long.

"Mind you, I'm not _rich_ , so don't go expecting too much." He unlocks his door and steps in ahead of Bucky to start flipping on lights.

It isn't much, this cabin, but what's there is warm and cozy, and it's clearly home to someone who loves to live in this space. The furniture is large, but Steve's a large guy, so that's appropriate. A couch and chair are situated around a fireplace, a TV is mounted over the mantel. The walls have bookshelves, filled equally with books and movies. A record player and a small collection of vinyls hides in the corner.

"You want anything to drink?" Steve offers, gesturing to the kitchen, just off to the right past a small dining area.

Bucky shakes his head. "I'm good now. Though I'm sure I'll want something after."

"Mm." Steve just shakes his head, looking amused, and then he gestures to a door leading off from the kitchen. "This way," he says, takes a step, then looks back and bites his lip. "If you're sure?"

The tease of uncertainty is cute, but that lip bite is hot, and that's the emotion that takes control of Bucky. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Steve smiles and reaches out his hand, so Bucky takes it and allows himself to be led to Steve's bedroom. This room, too, is inviting and seems like just the right place to snuggle up on a cool summer morning. A second, smaller fireplace nestles in the corner, but Bucky imagines that it makes the room warm and safe, and impossible to leave in the winter.

The bed's unmade, which is another peek into the mystery of Steve Rogers. He'd have pegged Steve as the type to keep his whole life meticulously clean and organized, but he likes to see that there are places where Steve is content to leave a mess. It makes it easier to feel like things can get started.

Which, right. How does one get this sort of thing started? Should he take off his shoes, start undressing? Is Steve a kisser, or is he just looking for a quick fuck in private?

"Do all of your hook-ups filter through Russian restaurateurs?" he asks, figuring maybe it'll feel easier if the banter comes back.

Steve snorts and runs a hand through his hair, then over his beard. "I don't know if she, uh, expected _this_? But yeah, she might have thought I'd appreciate meeting you."

Bucky grins, noticing Steve didn't actually answer his question, but he lets it go. "And do you? Appreciate meeting me?"

Steve steps closer to him, eyes raking over Bucky's body slowly. "Yeah, I think I do." He reaches out towards Bucky, but his fingers close in a fist and he meets Bucky's eyes. "We're definitely on the same page, right?"

Bucky lifts an eyebrow. "I mean, what else am I and my great legs doing here, Steve?" His fingers wrap around Steve's wrist, pulling his hand closer. "How do you like it? You a take-charge kinda guy? Or do you want someone to throw you around a little bit?"

The hungry look on Steve's face is not something he can linger on long, because Steve pulls Bucky in and kisses him roughly, with nipped lips and heavy breaths. It would appear that they're not here for soft, gentle sex, and Bucky is more than fine with that.

He slides his hands under Steve’s shirt, over defined abs Bucky can’t wait to lick. He pushes up, fingers digging into strong pectorals, and Steve gasps, nipple peaking against Bucky’s palm. Steve tilts Bucky’s chin up as Bucky’s hands drift back down, along Steve’s tapered sides, sliding back and down. Bucky can’t help but stretch his fingers wide to grab one ass cheek and _squeeze_ , which makes Steve grind his hips against Bucky. The hard definition of Steve’s dick is too much to ignore, and Bucky breaks off the kiss long enough to mutter, “Shirt off.”

He tugs the sweatshirt up to encourage Steve’s stripping and they manage to get the sweatshirt and tee underneath off. Then it's Bucky's turn.

He knows he's in shape, but he also knows he isn't twenty-three and working out obsessively. He's not even thirty-three and working out regularly—he's thirty-nine and generally tries to use the stairs between his office and the cafeteria. But Steve doesn't seem to care about Bucky's softer belly as he drags his fingers over it, and then up into the hair on Bucky's chest. Bucky swallows, shivering from the touch, and then looks up to watch Steve's wide eyes, eager and appreciative. Well, Bucky always likes an enthusiastic partner.

With chests bared, they quickly shuck the rest of their clothes, and then Steve backs Bucky up until his legs hit the bed. He has to grab onto Steve to catch his balance, right arm wrapping Steve’s shoulder. "So you like to take charge, I guess?" Bucky asks before licking Steve's neck along the edge of his beard. He feels Steve twitch, like he's ticklish. Good to know.

"I just like to show what I want," Steve says. "Like right now, I wanna see you spread out on my bed so I can really see just how fuckin' pretty you are."

Bucky's cheeks warm, and it spreads down to his chest. It makes him wet his lips, look up at Steve through his eyelashes—which are nice, but not as nice as Steve's—and he falls backwards with a grin, arms spread wide as he lands on the messy covers.

Steve does look him over, and Bucky returns the look, taking in Steve from head to, well, knee, where the bed cuts off his line of sight. But what he can see is every bit as gorgeous as his imagination. Steve's chest is massive, with arms to match, clearly built from years of working on boats. There's light hair over that chest, light both in color and density, though as it goes down Steve's six-pack, it darkens into a thicker thatch of hair that frames a really, _really_ nice dick.

He wants to put his hands on it. His lips, his tongue, his fucking esophogus. He licks his lips, and Steve lets out a whine. Bucky reluctantly draws his gaze back up this delicious form, and his reward is Steve looking like he's been handed a spoon and stood in front of a free sundae bar.

"I'm thinking I wanna suck you," Bucky says, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "What are you thinking?"

"Oh," Steve says, his voice little more than a whisper. "I, ah. I'd like that. But I was thinking I'd like to." He gestures at Bucky's lap. "Ride that. You."

"Oh," Bucky says, his stomach dropping. He'd assumed Steve liked to give; hell, maybe he did and he switched, or maybe he was making an exception for Bucky. Regardless, Bucky's dick visibly perks up at the idea of getting in that ass. "Yeah, honey. That'd be real fuckin' good." He reaches out with a hand and wiggles his fingers. "Get up here first. Gotta taste you."

Steve grins brightly and scurries up the bed, straddling Bucky's chest. Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s thighs, getting a long look at that delicious erect dick before wrapping his hand around his favorite boat renter. He strokes him a couple times, until he hears Steve's breathing increase. Then he stretches forward and licks around the top of Steve's dick like it's a goddamn popsicle. It's not the best position to blow him, since he doesn't have much leverage, but Steve's thick even at the tip and he tastes nice, so Bucky sucks on the head, hand around the shaft, and plants his other hand on Steve’s ass to pull him forward. Steve’s dick fills his mouth, stretching his lips, and it really is a really, _really_ nice dick.

Steve runs his hand through Bucky's hair, messing it up more than it already was after the boat ride. The gentle sensation cascades down Bucky's neck and shoulders, and if he wasn't already hard, that might have done it. Steve's large palm moves to the back of Bucky's head, but he doesn't hold Bucky in place, doesn't fuck Bucky's mouth. Bucky thinks maybe he'd like that, but after a few more sucks he pops off and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, wanting what Steve asked for more than anything else.

"Get the shit. Get on my dick."

"Didn't know you were a poet." Steve pushes Bucky flat on the bed and kisses him, hard and thorough, the arousal coiling through Bucky’s body making him flustered. He blinks at the sobering rush of cold air when Steve gets up to find condoms and lube in his bedside drawer.

Bucky takes the opportunity to push himself farther up the bed, sitting up against the pillows and wiggling around in the covers to try to work out the lumpy bits. Steve's back is a curved wall of muscle as he rustles in the drawer. "You're built so thick, you're not gonna, like, crush my junk when you sit on it, are ya?"

Steve looks back at him and sticks out his tongue, like a damn toddler, which makes Bucky laugh and tug on Steve's arm. "Come _on_ , I'd love to get my junk crushed by your fucking perfect ass." He lets go and slaps Steve's ass instead. It's firm, with solid muscle and soft skin. Bucky wants to shove his face between those cheeks and—

"Jesus, pal, if you're into spanking, I'm not saying no, but I don't have quite that much time this morning." Steve laughs and drops the lube on Bucky's chest. "Good fuck for now?"

There's an efficiency to this hook-up that speaks well to Bucky's pushing-forty soul. They're here to get something done, and that's it. There's no worry about what Steve _really_ wants from him. His long-term summer rental is ultimately a short-term stay in Shield Bay and Steve's life. They're here for a good time, and they don't need to beat around the bush.

Steve’s not shy about prepping himself, and he makes a show of slicking his fingers and pushing them inside, mouth parted, eyes locked on Bucky, making Bucky feel like he’s about to ignite. Bucky strokes himself lazily, keeping his eyes on Steve, but he can’t hold the intense gaze, attention sliding over Steve’s chest and stomach like dripping sweat.

He tries to be good, to wait for Steve to say when he’s ready, but Bucky can’t help the impatient whine that slips from his throat. Steve chucks a condom at him shortly after and, as soon as Bucky's dick is covered in a rubber and lube, Steve's straddling Bucky's lap. One hand on Bucky's shoulder, one hand holding Bucky's dick steady, Bucky holds Steve's exquisite hips to help keep him balanced as he sinks down slowly. Steve's perfectly stretched to fit Bucky, and each inch that Steve slips over him sparks fire along Bucky's spine.

" _Fuck_ ," Bucky says, with feeling. "You're way too fucking hot to run a small town boat rental."

Steve chuckles softly, tipping his head back and displaying a long expanse of neck Bucky is going to need to taste again. "I'm glad you think so highly of my other employment opportunities."

Bucky snorts. "Not quite what I was getting at, but you could make a pretty goddamn penny being nice to the sailors during Fleet Week, too. _Ohhh._ " Steve settles into his lap, his ass fitting quite snugly, and Bucky is in fucking heaven. "Jesus, man, you're too good for me."

"No," Steve says, bringing his hand up to cup Bucky's cheek. "I'm definitely not, Mr. Cheekbones." His thumb runs over said cheekbone, and then Steve leans in and kisses Bucky again, still hard, still intense, but with a bit less desperation. They kiss, and it's almost lazy, lingering, like they can do this forever—and then Steve lifts himself up and slides back down and all the sparks return.

Bucky shifts his hands from Steve's hips to his ass, helping to lift him, taking some of the leverage, and soon enough there's a rhythm, Steve fucking himself on Bucky as Bucky kisses him, licks up to his ear and sucks on his earlobe, then nibbles down his neck, until Steve groans and grasps Bucky's jaw and drags him back to lock their lips once more. It's teeth again, biting and pulling; Bucky loves it, maybe loves it too much for this one-night stand—one-late-morning stand?

Steve pulls Bucky closer, their chests pressing together. Bucky reaches between them, grasping for Steve's cock and then stroking it, making sure that Steve gets to feel something even close to as tight as what Bucky's feeling right now. They moan into each other's mouths, less kissing than just faces pushed together. Steve cants his hips faster, Bucky squeezes his fist tighter, and Steve comes first, his clenching muscles pulling the orgasm out of Bucky soon after.

Their foreheads rest together as their breathing evens out.

"That was good, pal," Steve says, a slightly breathless drawl.

Bucky laughs and pats Steve's cheek. "Not so bad yourself, buddy." He kisses Steve quickly and then shoves at his shoulders. "Okay, _now_ you're crushing my junk."

Steve laughs, too, and he lifts off Bucky, but he doesn't lie down. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and rolls his neck. Bucky pulls the condom off and looks around for a tissue or—

"Here." There's a washcloth in his face, and he takes it, cleaning himself up. Bucky swings his legs off the side of the bed, too, opposite to Steve. Oof, those are some muscles that weren't in use for way too long. He should remember that when he gets back home, maybe look into dating some more again.

But for now....

"You mind if I use your bathroom?" he asks, getting up and starting to gather his clothes.

Ten minutes later he's dressed, coming out of the bathroom to find Steve dressed, too. They lock eyes for a moment, and then they break and snicker. Bucky runs his hand through his hair. "Might be getting too old for this stuff. I forget how to be cool after."

Steve grins and walks over, reaching out to grasp Bucky's arm and tug him in. "Let you in on a secret," he murmurs, and then his voice drops more: "I never thought you were 'cool'." Before Bucky can squawk in response, Steve kisses him, still grinning, and Bucky tries hard not to swoon into him.

"You're a punk, seriously," Bucky says as they finally part. "You still gonna schlep me back to my car, or do I gotta figure out what kind of range Uber has up here?"

Steve drives him back, flipping the radio to some classic rock, and they start to sing along. Bucky busts out his air drums, nearly knocking over the iced coffee in the cupholder. Steve's singing voice isn't the best, but his laugh is deep and charming. By the time they're back at the beach lot, Bucky getting out and jumping into his own car, he's sad their little rendezvous is over.

At least he's signed the contract to rent the boat regularly this summer, so he'll still see Steve around. And that's nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Emily](https://twitter.com/seasaltstories) for the great art in this chapter!


	2. Chapter 2

Once Bucky's fancy SUV is out of sight, Steve heaves a sigh, and then laughs at himself. "Come on, Rogers, not your first hook-up. Get it together." He gets out of the car, locks it, and starts walking back to the docks. With a shake of his head he dismisses the image of Bucky below him, flushed and grinning, and sets his shoulders when he sees a couple standing in front of the hut and Peter frozen with a placid smile on his face. Yeah, Steve knows that look.

Steve strides in, a bright smile on his face, and successfully manages to charm the pants off the young yuppie couple trying to haggle a better deal. Peter escapes to the boats as soon as Steve steps in, which is where Steve would prefer him to be anyway. _White Star_ came back last night from maintenance and someone needs to get it rental-ready.

When the yuppies leave, having signed up at Steve’s regular rate, Steve settles on the stool in the hut— _shanty_ , he can hear Bucky call it—for the afternoon. 

The first week of the social summertime calendar, starting with Memorial Day, is always slow, barely any different from the winter and spring months that precede it. The only thing that picks up immediately is his paperwork. It's Peter's third summer with him, but he's got a half-dozen other applications from college kids to look through, licenses to update that he's been procrastinating on, and he's also trying to find a new boat to add to his fleet, since he knows _Sarah II_ is going to need to be put out to pasture soon. He can't do that if he doesn't have _Sarah III_ ready to go. 

Sitting hunched over the laptop is rough at the best of times but today he's wincing sooner than later, his lower back complaining from the morning's unexpected exercise. Also, he wishes he showered before getting back to work. He wrinkles his nose and tries not to think about the inevitable spots of come he missed wiping up that are going to itch soon. 

Oh. He wiggles in his seat. That are already itching, it seems.

He hears footsteps creaking towards him, and there's no one coming down the dock from the parking lot, so he figures it must be Peter. He stands, stretching, and steps out of the hut to meet his employee. 

"Hey, boss?" Peter Parker still won't call him Steve, and Steve's given up reminding him. " _White Star_ is looking good to go. Looks like they got rid of that gurgle from last year that you were all worried about. Which is good, I wasn't looking forward to another summer of people freakin' out about it, y'know?"

Steve nods sagely. "They'll ignore weird noises in their cars until the engine gives out, but a standard odd noise on a boat they've never been on? Disaster waiting to happen, clearly." They share a knowing smile.

"I figure this afternoon I'll take a look at _Spangled Speeder_? She's got a new rattle, I don't think it's the engine, though? I can poke around, see if it's something I can fix without sending it off." Peter rambles on about what he can do for the boat, showing off the engineering degree that definitely over-qualifies him for the job, but was one of the reasons Steve hired the grad student in the first place.

When Peter finally takes a breath, Steve says, "Good plan, that leaves me free to start reaching out to some possible new hires." He arches an eyebrow. "Actually. Why don't I give you a few to look at. You take your lunch break and read them over, let me know what you think?"

Peter's eyes go wide, and he actually stumbles a bit with a strong gust of wind that sweeps in off the ocean. "Really, Mr. Rogers?" 

Steve chuckles. "Think you deserve some more responsibility after all these summers. Have you manage the kids this year? Plus a raise, I'd think?"

"Yes, Mr. Rogers! Absolutely, sir, I'd, I'd really appreciate that. I'd do great with the summer kids, yeah!"

Steve makes a shooing motion with his hand, and steps back into his hut ( _shanty_ ) to grab the file of the most-promising applications. "Go take your lunch break now. I know I dragged you down here a little early today."

Peter takes the file and nods with a grin. "Not a problem, I was up anyway." Peter grabs his bag out of the hut and then starts jogging up the dock. Steve remembers when he could jog so easily after being crouched in a boat for an hour. 

Now that he's standing, he doesn't want to go sit again, so he strolls down the dock, checking the knots of moored boats along the way. When he gets to the end, he steps close, toes just over the edge, and he looks out on the ocean. 

He started this business almost twenty years ago, a dumb nineteen-year-old kid who was just looking for a way to escape his grief and try to make a living somewhere that wasn't the city where he'd lost his ma. Those first years weren’t easy. He didn't know anything about running a business—barely knew how to keep himself housed and fed—but he'd figured it out well enough to survive until he _did_ know what he was doing. 

These days, Rogers Rentals is a well-oiled machine, with the gears and cogs of routine and consistency. Like with his boats, he doesn't fear for his business when something breaks. Maybe that should be enough.

Steve sucks in a deep breath, the salt in the air clearing out the dust in his mind, and he smiles out at the ocean. 

Then he smiles wider as he sees a larger boat chugging in cautiously at the far end of the marina, where the commercial fishermen's boats were moored. He waves to Thor, who waves back, and decides to go help his friends get docked and unloaded, at least until another early vacationer comes looking for a boat to rent.

* * *

"The weeks after Memorial Day are always so annoying," Nat says, cracking open a lobster claw and pulling out the meat. She pops it in her mouth and keeps talking. "I get my shit all ready for the holiday weekend—there's a flood—but then it goes quiet for at least another week or two before the summer tourists really show up."

Sam nods. "But you gotta be at summer operating levels for that weekend, even though you won't need them for the next couple weeks." He licks his fingers, wiggles them as he looks over his plate, and then grabs the tail. Not his usual play for Thursday Lobster Night, their official weekly meal even in the off-season when Thor, Clint, or one of the other fishermen secures them three good ones each week.

Steve's lobster-eating method is to pull all the meat out at once and then eat it from a pile on his plate. Which means he starts eating after everyone else, but at least the hard work's done. He dips a long piece in butter and slurps it up, as is expected and appropriate in this environment.

"How are things going for you, Rogers?" Nat asks, and Steve gives her credit, she sounds pretty casual. Sam probably has no idea she's angling for some specific information.

Even though he knows what she wants to hear, that doesn't mean he'll give in that easily. "It's quiet still, yeah. But I didn't have a huge bump over the weekend, since it was so chilly." Which worked out since he was still waiting on maintenance for three boats. "Oh, I did get some hoity-toities on Tuesday, trying to wear Peter down on the price."

Complaining about customers sets them all on a topic away from Nat's machinations. Between Steve's boat renters, Natasha's diners, and Sam's tchotchke shop patrons, the three business owners have more than enough stories to share. Even during the slow weeks right before the summer boom hits, they can dig into the past and pull out doozies and old classics that they've shared at least once a year in all the time they've known each other.

Sam Wilson arrived about five years after Steve first came to Shield Bay, starting as a summer hire when he was out of the Air Force and ready to be away from anything remotely desert for the rest of his life. After two summers, he bought a place and started working year-round. When Nick Fury retired a few years back, he sold the business to Sam, keeping Fury's Curiosities a popular stop for tourists to this day. 

Natasha Romanoff bought the restaurant seven years ago, and her unique menu that combined standard New England seafood and pub food with Russian cuisine helped to draw a wide clientele. Steve and Sam went to A Widow's Bite the first week to welcome her and make sure they knew some dishes to recommend to help her get a solid start. She made them her friends that same night. 

Despite the burning question in their minds, they have never confirmed if she's an actual widow. For all that she's friendly and personable, she manages to keep much of her life before Shield Bay a secret. 

"I did have a really nice customer this past weekend," Nat says, and she casts a glance in Steve's direction. Shit, she's back on this again. He'll never escape her web. "Seemed like a city boy who'd come up for the weekend, but he told me he’s actually staying the summer. Over at Carol and Maria's." 

Sam nods, still finishing up his lobster tail, and Steve nods, too, like he doesn't know who this person is. Maybe he still has a shot to escape friendly ridicule.

But Nat puts her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, and looks right at Steve. "He was thinking about renting a boat at some point. I told him I knew the best place for it." She lifts one shapely, red eyebrow. "I drew him a map."

Sam looks between them, and he starts to laugh softly. "Uh-oh, Steve."

Steve closes his eyes and sighs. "I _may_ have had a new customer on Monday. Who said he was staying for the summer. Wanted to set up a weekly rental."

Natasha smirks. "And he was cute, wasn't he?"

Sam laughs more, and Steve sighs harder. "I suppose that someone with certain preferences might find him cute, yes."

This time she just snorts and goes back to her lobster. " _Your_ preferences, Steve. You'll be seeing him weekly, you said?"

Steve is thirty-eight, but now he's feeling fifteen again, sitting at the kitchen table while his ma slyly questions him about the boy who came over last night to study chemistry up in his room, and oh, funny, she found his backpack downstairs—chemistry book inside it. Now, as then, he's blushing, though less over what he's been caught at than at the feeling of being "caught" at all. 

So he clears his throat. "Yeah, he's got Wednesdays, ended up splurging on a full day deal. Setting him up on _Red Star_. She's a good boat for beginners, handles nicely."

"Is that all that handles nicely, Steve?" Sam asks. Sam has betrayed him.

Calmly, deliberately, Steve puts down his fork and takes off his lobster bib. He can't have this conversation while wearing a bib, however practical it is. "He's actually hot as hell, Natasha. He's also hilarious and I'm going to look forward to seeing him regularly. On the marina," he quickly adds. "As far as _seeing_ him." He clears his throat again. "We hooked up and it was great, and I definitely needed that. So thank you, Ms. Romanoff, for looking out for me."

Nat shakes her head, grinning, and goes back to eating, while Sam throws his head back and laughs, a good, full-chested chortle. Steve hates his friends so much. 

"Hooking up with a tourist," Sam says, still laughing and clucking his tongue. "What a stereotypical townie move!"

"Next thing you know, it won't just be a single hook-up," Nat says, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Like, will this guy ever actually get _on_ a boat?"

"Hey! He signed the contract and paid upfront. We went out— _on the boat_ —on Tuesday. And I know he came by yesterday to take it out."

Sam sips his beer. "When did you hook up with him?" He winces. "And where?"

Steve sighs, resigning himself to having to share most of this encounter's details. "Tuesday, after we did the test run." He looks down at his plate. "Took him back to mine." They both know he was pretty busy all Tuesday afternoon, and he and Sam watched a few DVR'd episodes of _Below Deck_ that night, so they'll know it had to be in the morning.

"Christ, you couldn't even keep it in your pants until after work, could you?"

"It's not like I had to do a lot to convince him," Steve mumbles at Sam's astonishment.

Nat reaches over and pats his hand. "Don't worry, I think he likes you, too."

Steve wants to argue that phrasing, but that feels a little too high school. Middle school, even. "What makes you say that?"

"I told him to come back and tell me how it went. On Tuesday, he came in for lunch and left a ten-dollar tip. He didn't say a word, but I made my assumptions anyway." She sips her beer again and sits back, looking terribly pleased with herself. "So. You're _welcome_." 

Steve swallows back a grumble, jutting his chin out as he pops a piece of lobster in his mouth, eyes never breaking away from Natasha's, and not saying a goddamn word.

* * *

By mid-June, business starts to pick up. School years have come to an end, and the families who own homes and cabins around Shield Bay start to arrive for the summer. Steve hires a quartet of young college kids, two boys and two girls, and they seem to get along with each other and Peter. Steve only spends a couple days babysitting them before he feels comfortable leaving them alone with Peter. 

Wednesdays Steve usually comes in late, spending the morning running to the bank for payroll and to the grocery to stock up on snacks for the hut. Shanty. (He can't stop hearing Bucky's voice saying that word.) When he comes in, usually Bucky has been out and back. He's glad Bucky's enjoying the boat enough to keep using his reservation, and he tries not to think about being sad to miss seeing him.

Steve's getting his breakfast sandwich at Banner's Bakery when his phone rings; it's Peter.

"Hey, boss." Peter's voice sounds weak, scratchy, and Steve holds back a sigh, already knowing what this call is about.

"Peter. What's up?" He picks up his coffee and the bag with his sandwich in one hand and nods to Bruce as he heads out the bakery door. It's still pretty early, and the street is quiet.

"I'm so sorry, I'm really not feeling well today." Peter clears his throat. "Cold—cough and stuff—dripping down—you know how it kind of slides—"

"Yeah, yeah," Steve cuts Peter off, knowing the kid's penchant to ramble. "Don't worry about it. I don't think anyone comes in too early, right? I'll hit the bank right away and get over there."

Peter coughs again. "Yeah, um. Mr. Barnes usually comes pretty early though? But he's pretty chill, I don't think he'll be too upset if he has to wait a few minutes."

It takes Steve a moment to realize who Peter means: _Bucky_. "Oh, he's on Wednesdays?" As if he doesn't know.

"Yeah. He's nice." Peter sniffs, a rattling snotty noise right in Steve's ear, and Steve winces.

"Okay, you go rest up, bud. Say hi to your aunt for me?" Peter promises he will and says goodbye, and Steve sighs, putting his phone back in his pocket. He looks at his breakfast and quickly turns the bag into a little envelope to hold the bagel so he can stuff his face as he heads to the dock. The bank will need to be a lunchtime errand today.

He beats Bucky to the hut and gets at opening the business for the day, half his coffee done before he hears footsteps approaching. He peeks from behind the hut, grinning at the sight of Bucky Barnes looking bright-eyed and boaty-tailed in a light blue windbreaker with "Shield Bay, MA" stitched on the left breast and a pair of dark gray athletic shorts that cling to him sinfully.

"Well, good morning, Mr. Barnes."

Bucky looks around, confused, then smiles when he spots Steve. "Oh, hey! I didn't think you worked mornings."

Steve steps out of the hut. "I actually work most mornings, just not usually Wednesdays. But Peter isn't feeling well." Steve runs a hand through his hair. He usually has a hat on here, but since he was still in errands mode, his morning hair is on display. He didn't think he'd need to look particularly good when he left the house this morning.

Not that he has any reason to look good right _now_ , does he?

"Oh!" Bucky ducks his head and chuckles. "So you, ah, you weren't avoiding me?"

Steve stares at him for a long, pregnant moment, and then his coffee kicks in, and he realizes what it probably looked like from Bucky's point of view, Steve never showing up the next day or the next two weeks. 

"Shit, man, no way. Not at all." He tries to soften his smile. "I just always do some errands on Wednesdays. Maybe I should've mentioned that when you contracted for today, ha." He licks his lips. "Definitely not avoiding you," Steve reaffirms, his voice lower and more intimate now.

Bucky smiles back and nods, and Steve is transfixed. His eyes follow the curve of Bucky's mouth, those pouty lips just as enticing today as they were two weeks ago. The memory of kissing him floods into Steve's mind, and he has to hold back a sigh from escaping. "How have you enjoyed taking the boat out?" 

He starts to walk down the dock towards the _Red Star_ , and Bucky comes along, keeping pace with Steve's strides.

"It's been really nice. Good way to get out of my head a little, and not have to immediately think about how to entertain Sully. My dog," he adds, when he glances over and sees Steve's questioning face. 

Steve brightens at the idea of a dog. "You think he'd like the boat? I don't mind if pets come along, just another waiver to sign."

Bucky chuckles. "Nah, ol' Sull's a landlubber."

They reach the boat, which was cleaned and prepped last night for Bucky's rental this morning. "Any issues you've had? Questions about running it that have come up? Peter knows his stuff, so if you've asked him, that's great, but I'm happy to, ah, help, too." Why does today feel so awkward? It'd make sense if they'd just hooked up yesterday, but it's been two weeks. Maybe that's why, though—if Bucky thought Steve had been avoiding him, then clearly he's been looking for Steve, noticing he wasn't around. Warmth floods through him, and he lifts his hand to rub at his beard and hide a grin.

Bucky smiles at him, shading his eyes against the early morning sun. "Everything's working smoothly, Steve. I guess I actually _was_ listening to you that first day out." Even under the shade of his hand, Steve can see the teasing sparkle in his eyes.

"You're a troublemaker," Steve laughs, then looks out to the ocean. "It's beautiful this morning. You'll have a good ride."

"You could come with," Bucky says, shrugging. "If you wanted to. I mean, if you can. If Peter's out, then maybe you shouldn't." There's a hint of disappointment in Bucky's voice, and it catches Steve by surprise. "Probably a dumb question, you work here—"

Steve reaches out and grabs Bucky's elbow, the gesture only striking him as overly familiar after he’s done it. "I work here because I _own_ this business. I don't have to report to anyone. No one sets my schedule." He smiles brightly, and pulls his hand back, hooking his thumb to point over his shoulder. "Let me check the appointment book. See if anything was set up for today specifically. Yeah?"

Bucky nods, looking a little brighter. "Yeah, okay." He nods over at the boat. "I'll get things started up here. Ship-shape and all that." 

They grin at each other, and Steve has to push down the urge to lean in and kiss that grin. But he turns and walks quickly back to the hut, ducking in to open his laptop and check the schedule for the day. It's just mid-June, and it's a Wednesday, so it's just like he suspected: zilch. A quick pull of the historical records strongly suggests that there's not likely to be anyone coming in. Which means it's no loss if he closes for the day.

Before he shuts his laptop, he shoots an email to Kate and America, who were scheduled to work, letting them know that he's closing, but they'll still get a full day's pay, and to enjoy the day off, don't tell the boys. Despite the teasing secrecy, Steve knows that Teddy and Billy will hear about it soon enough—the four are all friends, after all—so he'll be sure to do the same for the boys later in the season.

Business settled for the day, he locks up his laptop and the payroll information in the safe, pulls the panel over the window and padlocks it on the inside. He glances at the empty rack of keys on the back wall, and pokes his head out the door. 

"Barnes!" he shouts down the dock. "Bring me your keys!" Bucky’s head pops up, then nods, and he hauls himself out of the _Red Star_ and jogs back to Steve. 

"Forgot," Bucky says, tossing them gently over as he gets close to Steve. "Somehow I got distracted from the usual check-in process." He's got a smirk on his face and a tease to his voice; it seems that some of the awkwardness from earlier has shaken off, and Steve decides to follow Bucky's lead. 

"Don't I know the feelin'."

Bucky flicks his eyes over Steve, and Steve gets a feeling like today could be more than just a _boat_ ride. He locks up Bucky's car keys so they don't get lost in the drink, and together they head to the boat. 

Steve lets Bucky drive—after all he's paying for the opportunity—but that doesn't mean Steve stands back to watch. He points out landmarks and directs Bucky to aim for different places, one hand on the small of Bucky's back as he speaks close to Bucky's ear. He needs to be close to be heard over the engine. Obviously.

Bucky doesn't seem to mind it. He laughs and lets his head fall back, hair brushing Steve’s arm, and steps back into Steve's space, grabbing Steve’s hand to wrestle it out of the way when Steve points out the same whale watching spot for the third time. When they finally find a good place to drop anchor, Bucky takes a deep breath and pulls off his windbreaker, revealing a white t-shirt beneath, which pulls up slightly, flashing Bucky's abs for a breathtaking moment. Steve bites his lip, sits down in the captain's chair, and puts his legs up against the console, Bucky between them. 

"Ah," Bucky says, deadpan but smiling, "you've trapped me." 

"Huh," Steve responds, nonchalant. "Look at that."

Bucky steps forward and leans in, hands braced on Steve's thighs. "You didn't just come along for the views, huh?"

Steve, because he isn't an idiot, looks Bucky over carefully. "Yes, that's exactly why I came along." He very deliberately finds Bucky's eyes.

Not that Steve is being hard to read right now, but Bucky seems to pick up on everything. "Was this part of the contract I signed or something?" It's a teasing question, so Steve doesn't take it personally. Still, he needs to answer it. 

"Nah. Just a fun bonus for the both of us."

"Hmm." Bucky's fingers clench on Steve's thighs, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. A small wave hits them then, rocking the boat, and Bucky frowns. "Is this the safest sort of place to...?"

Which means he wants it as much as Steve does, and Steve just has to convince him to go for it. "On this boat? Probably want to keep it simple, also just because there's no privacy here." He gestures to the ocean around them. "Not too many people around, but we're not too far off shore, so someone could come close."

Bucky looks down to Steve's lap, and Steve reaches out to hook a finger in Bucky's waistband and tugs gently. "We can both feel good," Steve whispers, his other hand reaching around to palm Bucky's ass and pull him forward a step. There wasn't much space between them anyway, and now they're almost chest to chest. If Steve sits up straight, they will be. 

He does, dropping his feet to the floor, and Bucky doesn't use his newfound freedom to escape. They kiss, light and lingering. Steve smiles into the kiss, feeling buoyant and free now that he’s kissing Bucky’s pouty lips again, and Bucky takes the slight opening of Steve's mouth as the opportunity to lick into him. That sets Steve off; he groans softly and pulls Bucky in against him. 

Bucky's hands come up to cup Steve's face as they kiss deeper, and it's long minutes before they part. Steve bites Bucky's bottom lip softly, pulling on it a little, before he speaks. "Can I touch you?"

Bucky swallows, nods. "Yeah. I'll get you back?" One of his hands drops to Steve's lap, pressing into Steve and being very clear about what he's suggesting.

Which is perfect, because that's what Steve is suggesting, too. 

"Fuck yeah." The hand that's been toying at Bucky's waistband reaches in, slipping under both the shorts and Bucky's underwear—boxer briefs, if he remembers correctly—and he can feel that Bucky's already half-hard. 

He considers getting Bucky off like this, under his clothes, but they’re both wearing light-weight shorts that could show stains, and even if Bucky goes home after this, he still has to make it back to his car with some dignity. And Steve lives and works here. His dignity is questionable enough; he doesn’t need to reduce it further.

They take a minute to shift their clothes around, Bucky's shorts and briefs dropping around his ankles, while Steve's are just slipped off his ass, pulled tight between his spread legs that frame Bucky. Steve didn't get a lot of time to stare at Bucky's cock last time, but he takes the bright sun and their position to enjoy it now—the long curve and heavy, reddening head—before he licks his palm a couple times and then wraps it around Bucky, who responds with a moan and a roll of his hips. Steve doesn’t stock lube on his boats, but now he's thinking maybe he should. Or at least keep a tube in his pocket.

Steve strokes Bucky lazily, feeling no rush to get him off immediately. A glance at the water proves they’re very much alone, even if the thought of getting caught with his hand on Bucky’s dick makes this affair more exciting. 

Bucky basks in Steve’s attention, eyes closed and lips parted in a deliciously attractive look. Steve keeps moving his hand slowly, gaze rapt on Bucky's ecstatic face, feeling an ache somewhere other than his dick. And then Bucky shakes his head a little, like clearing his thoughts or something, and he takes Steve's dick in his hand, and all of Steve's brain focuses there, on the firm grip of Bucky’s flesh.

They whisper nonsense to each other, confess how good they feel, and then they're kissing again, deeper and messier, while they jerk each other off. Steve's mesmerized by Bucky's mouth, the talents of his tongue, how he tastes and feels. His hand working Steve over is perfect, bringing up memories of their last hook-up with Bucky’s dick up his ass. He splays one hand over Bucky’s ass cheek, feeling strangely possessive as he strokes Bucky’s cock, paying attention to his broken, ragged breaths. As they ramp each other up, push each other over, and spill onto their hands, coating their fingers, Steve realizes that he definitely wants to do this again, and he doesn't necessarily want to wait two weeks for a day when he can play hooky. 

Steve has a bucket handy—"a bucket for a Bucky!" he says, receiving a playful slap to the ass in response—and he leans over the side of the boat, said bare ass lifted up to meet the sun, collecting enough water to clean up. A small wave rocks the boat and gets most of Steve's hand rinsed, but after he puts the bucket on the deck he licks at the last bits of jizz on his wrist. Bucky sucks in a breath and then kisses him hard, their bare dicks pressed together but too spent to react. 

"You're just disgusting," Bucky murmurs, laughing a little bit. 

"You kissed me," Steve points out.

"So I'm disgusting, too." Bucky reaches around and squeezes Steve's ass. "Shame I missed _this_ this time." 

And here. Here's the opening Steve's been looking for. "Maybe you can be reunited next time," he says, aiming for casual, sounding a little more unsure than he'd like. 

Bucky raises his eyebrows at Steve, and the effect is surprise without any sarcasm. "Yeah? You wanna do something like this again?"

Steve shrugs. "You're here for the summer. I like being with you, and I don't get too many other options for a little action." It sounds pitiful when he puts it like that, but at least he's honest. 

"I didn't really come on vacation to start a relationship," Bucky says, and he sounds dubious, but also like he wants to be convinced.

"What relationship?" Steve says, trying not to laugh. "It's a three-month fling. Another way you can relax, get a little of yourself back, or whatever you’re looking to do on vacation." He feels weird having this talk with his dick out, so he leans down to pull up his drawers and shorts, and Bucky is quick to follow. "I've done it before, though it's been a while. Just had a thing with a tourist, and then he went home at the end of the season."

Bucky frowns at that. "You pick someone every year or something?"

"No!" Steve sighs, annoyed that he's saying this all wrong. "No, like literally just once before, years back. Like, fifteen or so years back. And then for a while I was dating a guy a few towns over." He scrunches up his face, not intending to relate his whole dating history. "Look, it's fine if that's what you _don't_ want. Just, since it's been twice now, I thought maybe..." He trails off, feeling really stupid. 

"You're fucking sexy, Steve," Bucky says. "I sure won't mind getting to enjoy other sexy adventures with you. I just don't want to get too... I dunno, scheduled? And if I don't feel like coming to take the boat out one week, I don't want to worry that I'm, like, leaving you with blue balls."

Steve nods eagerly, glad Bucky seems to be on the same page. "Okay. So how about we agree, no more boat sex? I won't usually be available to come out on the water with you anyway. But I'll give you my number? You can let me know when you want a, uh, a sexy adventure?" 

Bucky grins at that. "Yeah. That sounds good." He steps close, sliding his arm around Steve's waist, and kisses him. "Sexy summer fling. I do like the idea."

Steve returns the kiss and the smile. "Hey, I could show you a cool place to take the boat if you want to just sit alone and listen to music or whatever. Get you back for a late lunch and then whatever else you need to do for the afternoon? Then, maybe we could grab dinner? Just chill, friends dinner? Go back to our own places after?"

Bucky laughs, but he nods, says it sounds like a great idea, so Steve goes to take the wheel, starting up the boat again and aiming them for someplace new.

* * *

Someone's waiting on the docks when Steve finally brings them back in. He'd offered to let Bucky drive, but Bucky seemed more inclined to let Steve take control after an orgasm and a plan for more. Steve figures he'll look deeper into that later.

He pulls into the _Red Star_ 's slip and throws a rope to Thor, who grins at him and catches it, starting to tie them up without complaint. "Ahoy there, Captain Rogers!" 

"Captain Rogers?" Bucky mutters, and a glance back shows he's smirking. Steve rolls his eyes.

"Ahoy yourself, Captain Odinson." Steve squints into the sun as he looks up at the towering man on the dock. "You been looking for me?"

Thor shakes his head. "Saw you were closed but had a boat out, just happened to look out at the right time to see one coming in." He gestures to the boat. "Wanted to make sure you weren't the victim of theft."

Steve smiles, grateful as always for the family he's got here in the marina. "All on the up and up today," he says, "but I appreciate your concern." He gestures to Bucky. "This is Bucky Barnes. He's renting weekly for the summer. Bucky, this is Thor Odinson. He captains the _Bifrost_ , one of the fishing boats." 

"Good to meet you, Mr. Barnes," Thor says with a wave. 

Bucky smiles and waves back. "Same. And it's just Bucky, I'm not 'Mister' to anyone here this summer." 

Steve finishes securing the boat while Bucky and Thor chat politely. Though Steve's take on local hospitality is more intimate in regard to Bucky, the townies all like to get to know the rare season-long tourists. It makes for nice conversations in grocery stores, can help promote other local businesses, and more than once they've made friends who end up coming back often enough to buy a summer home in the area. Steve's not sure just yet if Bucky will end up returning, but he's already starting to hope so.

Steve presses down a smile, and hopes if he's blushing that it's taken as sunburn and nothing else. 

"—were going to head out for dinner," Bucky says, and Steve looks up quickly. Thor is a big fan of grabbing huge groups to go out to dinner, and while usually Steve likes that kind of camaraderie, tonight he'd like it to just be Bucky. 

So Steve jumps up on the dock and stands a bit behind Bucky, hoping to catch Thor's eye and subtly shake his head. 

"That sounds delightful!" Thor booms with a gigantic smile, rubbing his hands together eagerly, and _then_ he notices Steve and stares straight at him. Thor has never met subtlety in his life and course corrects awkwardly. "Though, ah, well. Yes! I'm sure you'll have a good dinner. The two of you. Alone. Steven knows all the best places."

Steve side-steps so he can see Bucky's face, and as suspected, Bucky is looking back at Steve with amusement. Sucks for the lack of subtlety, but at least Bucky's not holding it against Steve. "Yeah, I've got a good idea of where we'll go tonight. No Jane this week?" he asks, trying to turn the conversation away from his dinner plans.

Thor nods. "Jane is out of town, alas. But we'll Skype tonight!"

With smiles and a few last pleasantries, Steve and Bucky head back to the hut so they can collect their keys, and Steve can make sure everything is secure for the day. 

"I have to get back to the house for a bit," Bucky says, glancing at his watch, "and I could do with a, uh, change of clothes." He chuckles a little, and Steve thinks that also sounds like a good idea. "Would you want to just meet at the place at, say, five o'clock?"

Steve thinks for a moment. "How about four thirty at my place?" He smirks and adds, " _Outside_ my place. I'm thinking of somewhere that's a little ways out of town?"

Bucky looks at him for a long moment, then nods. "Yeah, sure. Remind me of your address, or how to find you? Been a while."

Steve quickly gives directions, and there's an awkward moment when they just look at each other, not quite sure if they should say goodbye, or hug, or whatever, until finally Bucky just raises a hand and gives a little wave before he turns and heads up to his car. Steve watches him go, trying not to smile too softly.

* * *

Bucky rolls up in his SUV, parking to the right of Steve's truck. He gets out, dressed in slim jeans and a well-worn Brooklyn Comets raglan shirt, accentuating his broad shoulders. Steve stares, already regretting the agreement to go back to their separate homes after dinner.

"Hey." Bucky claps his hands together, looking around.

"Hey," Steve echoes. "You look nice." He reaches one arm out for a handshake, and Bucky steps into him for a hug. Steve stands still for a moment, not sure what the protocol is for flingmates who are trying to be friends, too. Bucky kisses his cheek, though, which sets a breath of relief whooshing out of him, and he kisses Bucky's cheek in return. They step back from each other and grin. Steve's gestures to his truck. "Shall we?" 

From Steve's house, he heads away from the coast and takes them out of town.

"It's a little bit of a drive for just dinner," he admits when he sees the mildly apprehensive look on Bucky's face, "but I go here pretty often. It's good food, and it's..." He frowns, trying to think of how to phrase it.

"Somewhere no one's gonna see you with me?" Bucky asks. His voice is tight, and Steve realizes how it looks, especially after talking with Thor this afternoon.

"Not like that," Steve says—not a flat-out denial, but acknowledging Bucky's on the right track. "I'd like us to be friends—I wanna get to know you. If we go to dinner in town, we will be interrupted _all_ night. Everyone's chatty at the start of the season, wanting to know how things are going, who's been by." He shakes his head. "I'd rather not deal with that tonight. Another night, absolutely. That okay?"

He glances over at Bucky, who looks straight out the windshield for a long moment, and then he nods and smiles, and it's more relaxed now. "Yeah. That makes sense. Sorry, I don't know why I got that in my head anyway."

Steve shrugs. "You're in a new place, and you've rolled in for the summer. It's like coming into a new high school for the last semester before graduation. You'd like to get to know people, but you also know it's temporary." Bucky looks surprised, and Steve laughs. "Pal, I've been here about half my life. I've seen it before."

"Yeah, hah, all right." Bucky shakes his head. "Just not used to being... seen."

Steve smiles. "That's as deep as I get, promise. You're cool, we'll be friends, and then I'll help you be friends with everyone else, too."

Bucky snickers. "Hopefully not the same kind of friends we're gonna be. I'm no spring chicken."

Steve laughs hard at that, and Bucky joins him. The rest of the drive to the restaurant is full of Steve playing tour guide, telling stories about little places they pass, or making up ridiculous ones about the cousin of the Dover Demon terrorizing teenagers in the area. After almost a half-hour driving, they arrive in Howling Trees, and Steve pulls into the mostly-empty parking lot of Dugan's.

Bucky expresses surprise when it's not a seafood restaurant; Steve just shrugs and says, "Figure you'll get your fill of fish and all around Shield Bay. You like burgers, yeah?" Bucky confirms that he does like burgers, so they head in, get a booth in a corner. They're quiet after they order. Steve tries not to watch Bucky as Bucky reads the paper placemat that gives some history of Howling Trees and the owners' family history. The corners of Bucky's lips tip up, and Steve sits back in the booth, wondering what made Bucky smile like that. 

Steve kicks at Bucky's feet lightly, and Bucky looks up. "Thought we were gonna get to know each other, be friends," Steve says, teasing.

"Oh, do you not sit in silence with all your friends when eating out together?" Steve's feet get kicked playfully in return. "When did you start your business?" Bucky asks, folding his hands over the placemat and smiling pleasantly at Steve, a little bit of a smirk to his lips. 

"Almost twenty years ago." Bucky looks surprised. "I was nineteen. Didn't know what the fuck I was doing, but I had to get away from home." He picks at the rough skin around his thumbnail. "My ma died. So."

Bucky's face falls a little, but he just nods, doesn't stammer for words that will never be right, never could be right, not twenty years ago, not today. Steve's a bit relieved that he doesn't have to reassure Bucky that it's all right.

"So I came up here, had no idea what to do. Worked on a whale watch boat for a year, then bought two boats and started the business."

"Wow. That's impressive." 

Steve shrugs. "It was a lot of hard work, a lot of ignoring any other kind of life I might have built. But it was a good distraction from things I didn't want to think too much about." Even now, the flutter of painful memories make him look away: an art degree not pursued, a home in Brooklyn sold in grief and without much care, a young love left behind. He sips his Coke, smelling the meat on the grill and onion rings in the fryer, and his stomach gurgles in anticipation, another distraction bringing him back to the present. 

After a few minutes, Bucky leans over the table more. "I work in Manhattan. Advertising." He sighs softly. "I think I hate it?" Bucky's face pulls down, brow furrowed and normally soft mouth taut with a frown just a moment before he relaxes and looks at Steve again. "Which is why I'm here for the summer. Took a load of all my vacation I never took and ran away."

"Why here?" Steve loves his home, and he's certainly glad Bucky ended up in his orbit, but Shield Bay doesn't come up high on the list of top tourist stops in New England.

Bucky shrugs. "No special reason, other than I was able to find a listing for the whole summer available pretty last minute." He nods his head at Steve. "Do you know them?" 

"Carol and Maria? I wouldn't say we were close, exactly? But when they stay for the summer, they sometimes come to rent a boat, take their daughter out. Stop to talk when I see them in town, that sort of thing. They're nice." The attempted shift in topic doesn't escape Steve's notice, and years spent around Natasha never letting him get away with it has rubbed off on Steve. "So what happens after your vacation is over?"

Bucky chuckles softly. "I'm not sure. Guess we'll find out in September." Steve _hmms_ thoughtfully, not quite sure what he wants that decision to be. He's surprised to think he might have an opinion at all. 

"What else do you plan to do on your vacation?" Steve leans over the table a bit towards him, letting things get less serious. "Obviously I've been here a long time; I can make suggestions, if you need them." Does Steve bite his lip? A little. Look, it's not his fault he so rarely gets attractive, single guys his age!—who are into men, no less—around for an _entire summer_. 

"I dunno!" Bucky seems to perk up at the shift in topic. "I've been sticking close to the house and town so far. Mostly walking the beach with Sully a couple times a day. Got this boat rented from a real—" He stops, suddenly, looks around with a slight blush to his cheeks.

Steve chuckles and reaches out, his hand on Bucky's wrist. "Small towns, I know, but I wouldn't bring you anywhere that wasn't safe. Promise."

Bucky nods and grins, and he turns his hand palm up, letting Steve’s fingers graze against it. "Spent too much time in the city. It put all those bad stereotypes about everywhere else in my head." 

"It's fine, I get it. There are some towns around here where I wouldn't take you, or even recommend you go there alone." Steve pulls his hand away, not really wanting to but feeling he should, and scratches his beard. "We had a little Pride parade in Shield Bay a couple years ago. Pissed off a _lot_ of vacationers, so the town council wouldn't let us do it again." He shrugs. "So those of us who care, we close up the weekend Boston has their stuff, and we've always gone out to P-town."

Bucky tilts his head, reminding Steve of Natasha's black kitty, Liho. "Provincetown, right? I've heard of it, but never been."

"Yeah, out on the Cape. Biiiiig LGBTQ town, has been for decades. Not too far from here, if you decide to go. I can give a good rec for some of the best doughnuts I've ever had." Steve warms to the topic as memories start to flood his mind. "Man, the first time I went out there, I was alone and _so_ nervous. Twenty-one, just starting to embrace the whole idea of being _out_ -out. Ended up getting adopted for a long weekend by a couple of lesbians who could've been my moms—I think that's why they took to me—and they just showed me that everything would be fine, me being bi."

Bucky's got a small smile on his face, head tilted as he listens. He nods when Steve comes to the end of his little monologue. "So, you were twenty-one when you came out?"

"Yeah, pretty much? I think I told my friends when I was twenty-two?" Steve frowns, thinking. "Maybe? Honestly, maybe I was twenty. It's a blur, so long ago."

Now Bucky grins cheekily. "So how old _are_ you?" 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Really? Does it matter?"

Bucky's grin drops a bit. "It doesn't really. But we were going to get to know each other, right?" He leans forward and affects a stage whisper. "I'm thirty- _nine_ ," he says, like it's a secret.

Steve's shoulders relax and he grins, knowing he looks like a little shit. "I'm thirty- _seven_ , so you're the old fart here, anyway." Does he mention that his thirty-eighth birthday is just weeks away? No, he does not. Bucky kicks him under the table, and that's fair. "I'd ask what your sign is, but this isn't supposed to be a date," Steve teases.

"Oh, right," Bucky says, with a little surprised laugh. "Not doing _that_. Just... a fling, right?"

"Right," Steve agrees. "Hopefully friends with benefits for the summer?"

Bucky nods, and then their food arrives. Given the last turn of the conversation, Steve would have expected things to feel a little off, but it doesn't. Bucky comments on the quality of the burger, Steve enjoys his crinkle fries maybe a little too much in public. Soon enough their plates are all but licked clean and they're each leaning back in the booth, looking stuffed, and Steve wishes he could not be wearing pants. Which isn't exactly an unfamiliar desire around Bucky, but this time it's mostly about the meal.

"That's good stuff," Bucky says around a groan of happy overeating. "Worth the drive out, definitely."

Steve smiles. "See, you should definitely always trust me." 

"Mmhmm. Maybe." One corner of Bucky's lips curls, a sly smirk that makes Steve swallow and lick his lips. He picks up his drink and sucks on the straw, but he's at the bottom of the cup and it sucks air loudly, which makes Bucky laugh.

"Thirsty?" he asks. The little shit.

"Not anymore. Empty now." He shakes the cup and the remaining ice rattles, but then he clears his throat and calls out, "Refill!" They both laugh, and harder still when Steve has to wave off their server from giving him said refill, and instead ask for the check.

"If I say we should split this check," Bucky says as they wait for it, "are you going to be obnoxious about it?"

Steve wants to argue at the mere suggestion, but he can also feel a stubbornness to pay in full, so. All right then, points to Bucky. "We can split, that's fine. But with my _friends_ , we sometimes split the bill, but mostly we just know that we'll take turns and it all evens out in the end."

Bucky nods. "Next time?" Their server brings the check, and together they agree to add a healthy tip and split the total evenly. Within ten minutes they're back in Steve's truck and rumbling towards Shield Bay. 

They chat idly on the ride back—Steve talks about his early days trying to get people to rent his boats, and Bucky talks about the summers he spent with his family on the Jersey shore. They both laugh a lot, and the company is nice. Really nice, Steve thinks, and if this is going to be his summer, spending time with a nice guy who's also really good in bed, then it's definitely going to be one of his best summers in a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

It's a warmer night, and Bucky's out on the porch to take advantage of the sea breeze. Sully's lying next to him, half-watching as Bucky eats his tacos—he knows something will drop eventually. Music plays on the stereo inside, drifting out through the open door and windows, but it's not loud enough to cover the soothing sound of waves rolling onto the beach.

The last time they had dinner—in town, with Natasha, Sam, and more of Steve's friends, and not even remotely hiding their arrangement of summer booty call hijinks—he asked Steve why the homeowners would spend the summer _not_ in this home they clearly adored. Steve just shrugged, said they often did stay, but they also had a cabin on a lake somewhere. Bucky privately wonders if they've ever bothered going back to any kind of city life, because if you could have _two_ homes in such excellent places, why would you ever choose to not be in one of them?

As it is, Bucky's considering squatting here and refusing to leave when the summer ends.

(He's joking. Mostly.)

Steve hasn't joined him on the boat since the impromptu trip with the orgasms, which is probably for the best. They've hooked up twice in the last couple weeks, first after the group dinner, and then just this past weekend after the fireworks on the Fourth. Steve had to work through the fireworks display, people booking his boats to watch from the ocean, even if the contracts said to be docked by sunset. (The contracts also specified no alcohol, which also got ignored that night, apparently.) So Bucky received a text saying where to meet Steve's gang with Sully, away from the gaggle of tourists, and to head up to Steve's after and wait for him to get home.

And then, as Steve's text had put it, they had their _own_ fireworks show.

Steve knows how to put on a show—or maybe it's Steve with Bucky. Days later, Bucky is still thinking about the feeling of Steve's fingers up his ass and in his mouth, their cocks in Bucky's hand, sliding against each other in Steve's bed. They absolutely painted Bucky's chest with their come and then Steve licked up a significant portion, sharing it with Bucky in sloppy, spent kisses. _Mmm_. A good time for sure, and Bucky's got more ideas, more ways he wants to spend time with Steve. Maybe next time he'll invite Steve over here; he's not sure if Steve would feel comfortable fucking in a bed that doesn't belong to either of them, to friends of his, but the neighbors are far enough away that the porch could absolutely make a great option, or even towels down on the beach, under the moonlight.

A cool breeze tickles Bucky's bare legs, reminding him that it _does_ get cold at night. He's done eating his tacos anyway, so Bucky gets up and heads inside, calling Sully in over his shoulder on the way. Sully's tags jingle as he shakes and stretches, and then trots to follow Bucky to the kitchen. A little bit of leftover cheese falls to the ground as he cleans up, but Sully's on it before Bucky can even grab a napkin, and hey, the guy's earned a little treat.

"You ready to pee yet, bud?" Bucky asks once everything's away and the dishes are drying in the rack. "What are we thinking about for Netflix and dog cuddles tonight?" Sully cocks his head and looks at Bucky, which just makes Bucky laugh as he goes looking for Sully's leash.

The wind seems to have picked up, which means a game of chasing loose beach detritus for Sully. Bucky wonders what the chances are that this sticks around until the morning. He's been lucky with the weather out on the boat, but a particularly windy day might be a bit of a challenge. Then again, maybe Steve will come with him to keep him safe.

But then again _again_ , Bucky thinks when they're back inside, it's been nice keeping Steve separate from the boat. It keeps him anticipating the evenings more than he expected when planning this escape from real life.

He tucks in for the night, the memory of their boating adventure in his mind and his hand in his shorts.

When he wakes the next morning, he already knows all his plans are shot. It's teeming outside, the rain coming down in dark sheets that effectively block the view of the ocean from the porch. It takes almost five minutes to coax Sully to go pee and shit out there, and another five minutes of shaking and getting the whole damn place wet before he'll let Bucky at him with a towel.

The weather app on his phone confirms the bad news: the wind from last night turned into a big storm, and it's expected to be raining all day with a thunderstorm or two during the late afternoon or evening. In other words, not a day for taking a boat on the ocean. Bucky sighs. "Well. Might as well make a nice breakfast, eh Sull?" The German Shepherd perks up at the mention of food.

A pot of coffee, an omelet, and probably too many sausage links later, Bucky is full and groaning, rubbing his belly as he watches the rain. He never watches it at home, it's too miserable in the city, too intrusive, but out here, rain feels like it belongs, even as it makes everything damp and thick. It's a cocoon, and Bucky feels safe, not trapped.

The day passes lazily. He texts his sister, solidifying her plans to come up soon to spend a week with him. Sully gets bored, so they play with some toys until Sully is ready for a nap. Bucky has been careful to keep Sully off the furniture, for the most part, but today Bucky spreads one of his own blankets over the cushions and allows Sully to jump up and snuggle while he sleeps. The Danvers-Rambeaus have a Chromecast, so Bucky decides it's the right time to pull up Disney+ and watch some classic animation in the form of _Sleeping Beauty_ and _101 Dalmatians_ (for Sully) _._

He pulls out his phone around the Twilight Bark, and before he thinks too hard about it, he texts Steve.

_Hey, helluva day out there, huh? I did not brave the waves._

He doesn't expect a quick response—even for a Wednesday, Steve should be at work now—so he's surprised when the phone vibrates a couple minutes later.

> _**Steve:** I closed up anyway so you couldn't even if you wanted. Don't worry, I won't charge you for the week._

Bucky chuckles, and quickly replies he wasn't worried about that. He bites his lip, considering, and then adds: _I'd planned to text you when I got back._

> _**Steve:** You just texted me now. _

Bucky closes his eyes and tries not to smile. _So I did. So if you closed for the day, does that mean you're bored right now?_

> _**Steve:** I'm not quite bored, but I'd be open to suggestions for things to do that aren't cleaning my office._

He thinks about what he was considering last night, the little fantasies that played in his head, and he texts back: _You should come over here. Sully wants to meet ya._

> _**Steve:** Meeting a dog? I can be there in fifteen!_

Bucky laughs, thinking about how worried he'd been that he might look too eager, and then here's Steve, dropping everything to rush over. He confirms the address, though he thinks Steve knows where Bucky's staying, and then he gets up, laughing a little at himself as he tidies up and gets set for Steve.

It's probably closer to half an hour before he hears a car pulling into the driveway, setting off an unexpected kaleidoscope of butterflies in his gut. The back door from the kitchen meets the driveway through a short gravel path, but Bucky can hear Steve jogging around the house to the front, the sound of flip flops slapping against the wood, and then a quick knock at the door.

Steve's grinning face greets him. The man is clad in a forest green hoodie and some bright yellow shorts, legs wet and sand clinging to his toes from the path around. He pushes the hood off his head, revealing some messy hair that looks like it might be damp from some rain that landed before Steve realized he had a hood.

"Look what just crawled out of the ocean," Bucky drawls, stepping back and gesturing for Steve to walk in. "Are you a mermaid?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Steve asks as he brushes past Bucky, who swallows from just the light touch. Bucky closes the door and looks back at Steve, who is pulling off his hoodie, the t-shirt below riding up, showing off the expanse of skin over Steve's broad back, and Bucky takes an embarrassingly audible breath at the sight.

Steve turns and smirks at Bucky as he pulls his shirt back down.

The soft tapping of nails on the hardwood floors announces the arrival of the big scary protector who finally got his ass off the couch.

"Easy, pal," Bucky says, although Sully is anything but on edge as he steps forward to sniff the new human. "Sully, this is Steve. Be nice."

Steve holds out his hand for Sully to sniff. "You look like such a good boy," Steve says softly, and he kneels down to start petting under Sully's chin.

"He's a rescue," Bucky says, coming around to sit on the floor and stroke the dog's back. "Used to be a police dog. Went to live with his cop partner when he retired, but the bastard treated him like shit when his bosses weren't watching." Steve makes sad crooning noises, scratching gently at Sully's ears. "He was called Soldier, but I don't like that name for him. So he's been Sully with me."

Steve looks at Bucky and smiles warmly. "Sounds like you've made a good home for him."

"We had German Shepherds growing up, so I'm used to their breed. I wasn't looking to get one, considering I live in an apartment in New York City, but this guy's a bit more mellow after all his years of action and neglect, so it works. We get to the parks regularly, at least."

Now just full-on sitting on the floor as Sully starts to sniff right under his chin, Steve laughs and gives some rougher pets. "Man, being up here must be a treat for him, huh?"

"I think he likes it, yeah. It took him a couple days to really get into the ocean, but he'll play in the surf now. I can't imagine how much of the beach he's brought back in here and shaken off," he adds, looking around like he can see the piles of sand.

Steve snickers. "Carol and Maria have pets, a cat and a big chocolate lab, so I'm sure they're used to that kinda thing."

"You ever have pets?"

"No, never have. Would love a dog one day, though, when I can spend more time at home." Steve boops his nose against Sully's, getting a lick for a reward, and he laughs, a full belly laugh that sets Bucky laughing, too. Sully, encouraged by the laughing, licks Steve more, and keeps the laughter going. It's more like giggling as Steve lies on the floor, covered in Sully's enthusiastic licks. Bucky gets it: Steve is _extremely_ lickable.

Eventually, Sully wanders off to flop in his bed, freeing Steve to get up with Bucky's help. Bucky wipes his hand over Steve's face, cleaning off some of Sully's slobber, and then kindly wipes his hand on Steve's shirt. If he cops a feel of Steve's pecs at the same time, well, who could blame him?

"Looks like you're approved," he says, smirking over at Sully as he leads Steve over to the couch. "Welcome to my home for the summer. Have you ever been here before?"

Steve nods, taking the corner seat and turning toward Bucky, knee on the cushion between them. "Yeah, a few times when they've hosted parties and such. More before they had Monica."

"My sister's the one who's always hosted the parties," Bucky offers, wiggling deeper into the couch. His shirt catches and pulls up slightly, and for a moment Steve eyes the patch of bare skin that's exposed. His Adam's apple works as he swallows, and then his attention snaps back to Bucky's face.

"You have a sister?" he asks, after he clears his throat. Bucky has to hold back a grin.

"Yeah, twin sister. She's actually coming by in a couple weeks for a visit. Also have a younger sister." He nods at Steve, gesturing with his hand. "I know you said your mom died, but do you have any siblings?"

Steve shakes his head. "No, my dad passed away when I was really little, and my Ma never really made time for anyone new."

The conversation moseys around for a while, covering the topics of childhood hobbies (art classes for Steve, piano and debate club for Bucky), schooling (an MBA for Bucky, a couple semesters of business classes from a nearby community college for Steve), and embarrassing stories of being young and coming out for the both of them.

"I'd known since I was, like, twelve," Bucky says, sighing and injecting this dull story with undue dramatics. "But we were one of those families who didn't talk about our internal struggles, and we didn't gossip about other people, so the topic of queerness never came up. Going to college was a revelation. I came home for Thanksgiving and announced it as my mom was serving the cranberry sauce." He tuts and adds, "Totally ruined the tablecloth when she flipped the ladle in surprise."

Steve laughs, good natured and easy. By now there's a full bag of potato chips in a bowl between them and they're drinking beer from the local brewery Bucky tried his first week here and immediately fell in love with. "Was it okay with them, though? After the shock wore off?"

Bucky hums as he sips from the bottle. "Yeah, they were okay, that's a good word. My dad didn't get angry, he just basically ignored it. Mom told me later she'd suspected for a while."

"How about your sisters?"

Bucky pauses. "Em was eleven, so I don't think she totally understood back then. Becca... Becca definitely understood, more than I realized."

Steve's lips quirk in a grin. "Her too?"

"Took her a little more time to come out, but yeah, she's not straight." It's not as simple as that makes it sound—took a while for Bucky to drop the "identical" when describing his twin—but it's also not Bucky's place to give those details, especially not to someone who's just a fling for the summer. "By now we're all good with who everyone is. Dad asks me if I have a crush on every up and coming actor, and my mom made a rule that everyone serves their own damn cranberry sauce." He laughs at his own punchline, and Steve joins in to his delight.

As the afternoon settles in, the rain eases up, and Sully starts doing his antsy dance. Bucky sighs and gets up, barely avoiding knocking over the bowl with the remnants of the chips. "He needs to shit and pee," Bucky says, apologizing a little. "You want to come with? We go along the beach. I have an umbrella you can use."

Steve's up for it. "Been a while since I've done a walk on the beach in the rain, sounds fun!" He waves off the umbrella, throwing his hoodie on instead. "I'd be laughed at if I was using an umbrella like a dumb tourist," he teases, and Bucky sticks his tongue out. Steve looks like he might be about to step forward and kiss Bucky for that face, but he doesn't. Bucky has a raincoat he bought specifically for this trip, so at least he doesn't have to get labeled a tourist and spare Steve the horror of being seen with one.

Bucky brings a longer leash so Sully can explore the waves and dunes more while Bucky and Steve walk together a little more sedately. They don't talk much, with the waves loud and the wind in their ears, though the rain is more of a mist now, both better than a driving downpour and worse because he can't angle his face away from it, because it's always right there.

It gets darker more quickly than Bucky expected, another storm blowing in, and they hurry back at almost a jogging pace, wet sand clinging to Bucky's shoes and Steve's bare feet, flip flops long given up and stuck in his hoodie's pouch. When they finally get back to the house, Bucky toes off his shoes and orders both Steve and Sully to stay on the porch while he goes in to get towels.

"You both look drowned," Bucky says as he hands two towels to Steve and steels himself to try and dry off a dog that would rather shake itself. He wrestles with Sully a bit, and when he finally figures he's spent all of Sully's tolerance, he sits back on his heels and looks up at Steve.

Steve, who is shirtless and wearing a towel wrapped around his narrow waist.

Bucky swallows. "Uh."

"Sorry," Steve says with a chuckle. "Soaked through. Figured I'll bring in the clothes and let them dry before I go home?"

"Jesus. Get inside, dumbass. I'll get you some clothes." Bucky walks back inside and doesn't look behind him to see if Steve follows. He does hear the door shut, and the jingle of Sully's tags before a cold nose hits Bucky's thigh, and he laughs softly. This isn't the day he expected; there's been no sex and now he's looking to put clothes back _on_ Steve. But it doesn't feel bad, or like they're doing something wrong. They're friends, too, after all.

"Might be a bit small on you," Bucky says, handing Steve a t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, "but I think that's just a reward for me."

They're friends, but Bucky's never had a friend drop a towel to reveal he wasn't wearing underwear before slipping into Bucky's sweatpants with no buffer. Which is what Steve does, right in the middle of the living room. Bucky just watches him, like it's a challenge, and then he shakes his head and starts trying to figure out how to get Steve's clothes dried.

"I'll build a fire," Steve offers, pointing to the large fireplace. He gets right to work, in bare feet and Bucky's clothes. Within fifteen minutes there's a warm glow and a bubble of heat, with Steve's clothes laid out on the hearth.

Bucky doesn't know when Steve's planning on going home, but soon Sully has his head on Steve's lap as Steve sits on the floor, back against the couch where Bucky is stretched out above him, curled around the bend in the sectional so he can see Steve easily. They order pizza from Lucky's and eat it right from the box as it sits between them on the floor, laughing as they tell more stories and try to keep Sully from snagging dropped pieces of sausage. They do, at last, make out a little after, but Steve yawns and Bucky laughs at him before they can get any further.

"I should get going," Steve says, but he doesn't move at all.

The rain's picked up again, which is as good a reason as any for Bucky to say, "Stay." Steve makes a little humming sound. "Just crash here. You can take the couch." Because they're _friends_ today. Friends who, perhaps, make out a little, but that's _it_.

Steve looks at Bucky and raises his eyebrow. "Really?"

Bucky nods. "Yeah, really." He makes a little face. "Someone hogs the bed, y'know?" He smiles, hoping to not feel so weird. Sully isn't allowed in the bed with him, but it's a good excuse.

Steve looks at him for a moment longer, then nods. "All right. I won't mind not driving back tonight in the rain. Thanks."

Bucky gathers some spare blankets and finds an extra top sheet for Steve's comfort on the couch. Twenty minutes later, Bucky and Sully are settled in their bedroom, and Bucky hopes he can fall asleep quickly, not thinking too much about how he wishes Steve was in bed with him.

* * *

The next week and a half sees their arrangement getting back to the routine they started on: fucking together some days, hanging out together and with Steve's friends on others. When Becca arrives on a Saturday, ready for a week's vacation with her brother, Steve is bummed at the temporary halt to their hangs and bangs, which he expresses through a collection of frowning, eggplant, and peach emojis. Bucky kind of agrees.

Bucky's thrilled to see his sister, who coos over the house and the view, and spends way too much time spoiling Sully. They do the more touristy things while Bucky tries to avoid some of Steve's friends in town, not wanting to risk getting teased around her. (One day he ran into Sam at the grocery store, who asked if Steve sent any deck pics recently—ever since, Bucky turns corners with heightened caution.)

Bucky does take Becca to A Widow's Bite for dinner Tuesday night, and Natasha winks at Bucky once, but otherwise leaves them be while they eat. Bucky leaves his now-standard sixty-percent tip, and he's pretty sure Becca doesn't notice. She'd get the story out of him otherwise, and then never let him live it down.

Wednesday is, of course, boat day. Bucky almost texts Steve to ask if he's going to be there—Steve usually isn't, except for that one memorable time—but if he wasn't planning to be there, the text may either prompt him to show up, or else it might make Steve feel weird, like Bucky's trying to avoid him with his sister around. And while, okay, maybe Bucky isn't _eager_ for his sister to meet his summer booty-call, he thinks she and Steve will like each other, and it won't be terrible if they meet.

When they get to the marina, Peter's there with Billy and Teddy. The two college kids are slacking off and standing close together, so Bucky and Becca go straight to the _Red Star_ , loading up their cooler and bag of supplies for the day. Bucky doesn't usually stay out much past noon, but today he's planning to show off a bit, take Becca around to a number of cool spots he's found over the last six weeks. They've packed their swimsuits, too, and Bucky expects to be back a little before Sully's dinner.

It's a beautiful day, and they have a great time out on the ocean and visiting various small bays and swimming spots. Becca loves the water, and Bucky's happy to see her at ease in her tankini after so long hating to be in anything other than a t-shirt. They eat lunch on the deck, letting the air dry the water clinging to their skin. Sooner than they expect, they're tired out by the sun, so Bucky pilots them back to the docks.

"I have no idea how you found your way back here," Becca says as Bucky parks the boat, _flawlessly_ if he does say so himself.

"I'm a natural boatsman," Bucky says, his tone breezy and confident. "Also I've done this for like, uh, five weeks now?" He's surprised to find that's true. "It's only once a week, but I picked it up pretty quick." He grins a little as he cuts the engine, and then tosses Billy a line when he appears to tie up the boat. "Also had a good teacher."

Becca hauls herself up onto the dock and smirks at him, one hand coming up to tuck a loose piece of curly, brown hair out of her face. "Yessss, you briefly mentioned this Boaty McTeacher to me way back when you first got here. Said he was hot."

Billy snickers at Becca's description of Steve, and Bucky cuts him a look, glad when Billy doesn't take that as an invitation to comment. He gestures towards the shanty (hut?), then signals with a thumbs up before he jogs away to snag Bucky's keys.

"Mmm," Bucky says in response to Becca, turning his attention to their belongings. They brought a lot of shit today and he wants to make sure he has all their things. And therefore he misses the approaching footsteps.

"Um." Becca clears her throat. "There's... a large, swole man coming your way."

"Hmm?" He looks up, and yes, that's Steve, walking towards them with just a little smirk on his face. "Oh." Bucky avoids looking at Becca, and gets busy with moving trash around in their cooler.

"Was gettin' ready to send out a search party for you, Buck." Steve's drawl is thick with amusement.

Bucky looks up and gives Steve a little smile. "You worried about me, Captain Rogers? I didn't think I'd see you today."

"You're back later than usual. I hope that means you had a good outing? " He turns to Becca and smiles. "Hi."

Bucky steps up onto the dock and gestures between them. "Becca, this is Steve, he owns the boat. Steve, this is my sister, Becca." They shake hands, and Bucky tries not to look visibly tense at this whole situation.

"You got a nice boat," Becca says, cutting a glance at Bucky with her clever, steel gray eyes. "And you let this one just... take it?"

"It's his _business_ ," Bucky mutters, as Steve says, "Well, he signed all the proper paperwork, so it's his ass if something goes wrong."

Becca laughs at that, and Steve grins, too, and parts of Bucky get more and less tense all at once. "I haven't broken anything yet," he points out, nudging Steve's arm with his elbow. When had Steve stepped so close, anyway?

" _Yet_ ," Becca says, grimacing at Steve. "Man, I hope you've got great insurance."

Steve chuckles, but he just shakes his head and looks at Bucky. "I've seen him in action. I trust him."

It's a very innocent comment, and utterly true as well in that sense, but Bucky feels his cheeks heat more, and he knows he's put on enough sunscreen for the day, which means he must be blushing. And said blushing is definitely going to catch his sister's stupidly observant eye, and the whole thing is probably blown.

No, definitely blown. He can see her face shift slowly into a smirk, and he knows once they're alone, he's getting interrogated.

While he's having internal strife, Steve and Becca chat idly, and it's not until Steve reaches out to touch Bucky's lower back that he realizes they've been asking him a question. "Sorry, I zoned out."

Becca's eyes are bright in a dangerous sort of way. "Steve asked what other plans you have for me while I'm here."

"Oh, um." He's flustered, Steve's hand still on his back. "I'm thinking maybe I'll take her out to Dugan's tomorrow night?" He glances at Steve with a small smile; they haven't been back, tending to spend friendly time in Shield Bay proper, mostly by having dinner with other townies.

Steve smiles back, holding Bucky's eyes for a moment, and then looks at Becca and nods. "That's a great spot. Sounds like your brother's being a great tour guide for us."

Becca's looking between the two of them, and she presses down a small grin of her own. "He's been really enthusiastic about everything around here. I couldn't wait to come out and see it for myself."

Steve's smile grows. There's a slight bit of pressure to Bucky's back, and then Steve's hand finally pulls away. There must be a breeze, because he feels a little chill on his back now.

"Well, Barneses, I don't want to take up your time together. Now that I know you didn't get lost at sea," he says, teasing, "I think it's time to lock up for the night, and I'll let you both on your way there."

Bucky trades the boat's keys for his car keys and gathers their stuff while Steve says goodbye to Becca, and then promises to catch Bucky again soon. Becca absolutely smirks at Bucky, which is annoying as hell, because this means A Conversation later, but she's kind enough to leave it alone as they drive back to the house.

* * *

She finally pounces while he's making lime crema sauce and she's prepping the tilapia for their fish tacos.

"Sooooo. Steve, huh?"

Bucky tries not to react too much. He knows she won't stop, but maybe nonchalance will make things easier? "He's got good boats."

"Mmhmm." She slides the fish into the oven, sets the timer, and turns to lean against the counter, straightening her magenta tank top, feigning primness. "You're not just riding his boat, are you?"

"Uuuugh." Bucky closes his eyes, his head dropping back. "Gross, Becs."

"That's not a no."

He sighs. "No, it wasn't a no."

Becca cackles, rubbing her hands together. "Good! You needed to get laid. And he _is_ hot as hell, so good job on going on vacation and ending up with a boyfriend."

"What?" Bucky turns and frowns at her. "No, it's—it's not that. He's not my boyfriend. We're just. It's just a fling, right? Summer fling, and we're friends when we don't fuck."

She raises an eyebrow at him, looking deeply unimpressed. "That's a boyfriend, dorkus."

"Nuh-uh. There's other feelings involved. I am very certain of that. I remember it, vaguely, from the last time I had a boyfriend." That may have been five years ago. Maybe longer? It doesn't matter, he remembers it. "Honestly, we wouldn't be friends if we weren't... doing the other stuff."

Becca eyes him carefully, sending Bucky back to when they were fifteen and Bucky, long after curfew, crawled back in their bedroom window from the fire escape. "Maybe so. But... like. I just saw you two together. If you weren't telling me you weren't in a relationship, I'd think you were. Standing close, touching?" She shrugs. "Looked pretty boyfriendly. It's not a bad thing, Bucks."

He shakes his head. "I'm going back to the city at the end of the summer, so I'm not here to make any kind of lasting relationship. That's why we agreed on just a, a summer arrangement or whatever." Flustered and trying to ignore the feeling deep inside his gut that remembers getting excited when Becca told him someone was into him, Bucky starts stirring the sauce again, not looking at his sister. "That's all there is, okay?"

She doesn't answer him, just moves out of his peripheral vision. They don't have the spooky identical twin sense people asked them about all through their childhood, but he knows she's said her peace and will drop the topic for the evening. Which is good. Because Steve is not his boyfriend.

As they stuff their faces with delicious tacos, Becca decides to switch to the other topic Bucky desperately doesn't want to talk about. "So, outside of getting to know the local fauna, have you done any thinking about—you know—your job?"

Bucky groans and leans back, tugging on his hair. "Honestly, I'm really trying not to. I've done very well at not checking my email. No one has called me." He sighs, the weight of indecision heavy in his heart. "Actually, it feels really, _really_ good to have that responsibility gone."

She raises an eyebrow as she wipes a napkin over her lips. "That's hardly a surprise, though. That's why you wanted to go away for the summer."

"Yeah." He picks up his beer and contemplates the bottle's label. "How many people hate their jobs, Becs? People just deal, right?"

He knows she's not going to agree with that, but he trusts her to be gentle and to offer some advice, too. And, yeah, maybe after a month away from the stress and responsibilities and excuses, he's finally ready to hear it. There's no one else Bucky trusts more in the world than his sister, even if he hasn't always listened to her.

She rests her elbows on the table and leans forward. "Yes, some people just deal with their jobs. But a lot of people don't. They look for something new. And maybe that's just the same job in a new place, or maybe it's a totally new career path. But people move jobs. You've been in this one for fifteen years, right? There abouts?" She pauses, allowing Bucky to nod miserably. "That's really unusual, honestly."

Few people his age have his kind of seniority in their jobs. As he climbed the ranks, he always thought that was a sign of his skill, his company's trust, or a deficiency on the part of his peers. But maybe they moved on to better pastures, finding something that makes them happier than he's been, particularly over the last five years or so.

"What... what would I _do_?" he asks, despondent. This has always been the wall he hits when he's stopped to think about moving on from this job—what could he possibly do? Fifteen years in advertising has given him so much skill and experience, and he's been head-hunted more than a few times, but he also knows that every agency is basically the same. Kinney & Associates wanted him for a New York division to their Pittsburgh headquarters, but ultimately Bucky figured if he wanted to be overworked and stressed out, he might as well keep the respect he built at Pierce & Rumlow.

Becca shakes her head. "You can translate your skills, I have no doubt about that. Sit down and think about what you do, and then think about what you're _actually_ doing when you do those things. Dumb it down to the most basic tasks. Then think about what else uses those really basic skills."

He hums and considers that while she eats the last bit of her tacos and licks her fingertips. She picks up her thought after she swallows, "Honestly, you can probably just quit and figure out what to do later. You've been making plenty of money and investing it just super smartly—"

"Should be, I'm following _your_ advice, Ms Senior Financial Analyst."

She smirks and sweeps her red-highlighted hair off her shoulder smugly. "You're doing great. So if you wanted to be totally fuck-it and just quit when you go back to work and not worry about having something lined up? You could probably handle about six months. Maybe more if you down-sized your apartment."

It sounds so easy, when she says it like that.

She must sense that he's still unsure. "Okay. Thought experiment." He groans, but she presses on. "You get a call tomorrow that says you're fired, no severance, you're just done immediately. How do you feel?"

"Relieved," he admits. He feels a little bad about how quickly he answers the question.

"Scared at all?"

He cracks a grin. "Not since you just told me I'd be fine for at least six months."

"All right." She nods and lifts two fingers. "Part two: what is one reason that you'd rather stay in your job exactly as you have it now?"

He has to think about this question.

The first thought is his salary, and it's true that the security and freedom it brings is nice—after all, he wouldn't be in this house for the whole summer without having some money to burn. But he's not someone who lives an extravagant lifestyle, and he had the money for this place mostly because he avoided taking vacations or doing anything for himself for so many years.

Does the work on its own compel him to stay? Making it easier for companies to sell their goods and services—to earn more money that is rarely used to better the world—is that something that makes him want to stay around? He was a wide-eyed idealist as a young copywriter when he started, was told that he'd grow conservative over the years, he just needed to focus on the job, not what the clients do with a successful campaign. The opposite has happened, though, and that's been a lot of what has left him uncomfortable.

What about the people he works with? He shakes his head. There's no one worth going back for. If anything, there are more people around here worth staying for. He swallows, one particular person looming large in his mind, and he closes his eyes to try and push Steve out right now. This decision can't be about him, not even slightly.

"Bucks?" Becca asks, softly breaking into his thoughts.

He opens his eyes and shakes his head at her. "Can't think of a single reason to stay, except that I'd be scared to leave."

She smiles at him, soft and maybe a little proud, even. "Then I think that's your decision."

Bucky stares at her, his eyes wide. "Shit," he whispers, then, more loudly, " _shit!_ " Becca laughs, and then Bucky laughs, and Bucky feels lighter than he has in a very long time.

* * *

He texts Steve when Becca leaves. Not to make plans or anything, just a _hey, Becca's headed back home, Sully's sad he's not getting spoiled with cheese anymore_. Very casual, totally chill.

His plans for the Monday after she's left involve heading south a bit to spend time in an old, colonial cemetery and eat some lobster rolls with a beer for lunch. Sully's along for the ride, happily sniffing around the graves as Bucky takes pictures and looks for old-timey names and quirky epitaphs. At one point, Sully goes still and stares—Bucky expects there must be a squirrel or rabbit, maybe a cat, but when he looks, there's nothing but gravestones and trees beyond. Bucky can't blame any souls coming to say hi to Sully, and he's just sad he missed out on the chance to document some ghostly evidence.

After lunch, he heads back to his home away from home, enjoying the drive through the back roads of Massachusetts. A peaceful feeling he hasn't felt in years settles in his bones as he cruises through the tree-lined mystery paths he selects as he goes along, GPS turned off for now. He loves Manhattan, enjoys visiting the other boroughs, but he can't deny that getting a little lost in a place like this is something that's maybe been missing from his life.

Around four o'clock he turns the GPS back on. He winces a little as he waits for it to load and show him just how far from Shield Bay he strayed, but thankfully he's only about an hour's drive away, a little southwest of the town. Probably would only be a half-hour as the crow flies, but he's got winding roads and small towns with 25- and 35-MPH speed limits between him and home.

"Sorry, Sull, dinner will be a little late, but I'll make it worth your while," he promises his patient dog, who just huffs a sigh as he lies on the back seat.

As he approaches town, he considers stopping to grab dinner, but he's not super hungry yet, and figures it's best to get Sully out for a pee as soon as possible. He drives on through, waving as he sees Peter and a couple of the kids working for Steve this summer getting ice cream from Drake's. They wave back, and Bucky keeps heading on his way through town.

Once home, he immediately takes Sully to do his business, and then they walk up the beach a short way before coming back—and when they come back, Steve is sitting on the front porch with the screen door propped open.

"What the hell?" Bucky calls as he approaches, but he's amused, not upset at all. He lets Sully off the leash, smiles as the dog bounds up to Steve to get some pets and butt scratches, which Steve gives eagerly. Bucky follows at a more leisurely pace, and he leans against the frame of the screen door. "Did I forget you were coming over?"

Steve shakes his head, still paying attention to Sully. "Nope. Just thought I'd come by. Brought dinner, if you're interested?"

Bucky smiles, amused and feeling unexpectedly fond. "Depends. What did you bring?" He steps in and lets the screen door bang shut behind him.

Dinner turns out to be Italian subs, loaded with extra meat and dripping with oil and vinegar. They don't bother getting napkins and eat on the porch, with Sully lying calmly between them, just keeping his presence known in case someone is kind enough to feed him. (Bucky thinks Steve slips the dog some turkey, but Bucky doesn't call him out for it.)

"I've never been one to just go and visit a cemetery," Steve admits, after Bucky tells about his adventures from the day. "I mean, I've visited my Ma's grave plenty." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a shine of oil on his cheek.

"I don't do it much either," Bucky admits, "but I was feeling in the mood. Natasha mentioned it to me. Said it was a good place for an eternal rest. Or disposing of a body." He widens his eyes, feigning fear, and Steve's grin widens. Bucky learned early on he's not the only one to wonder about Natasha's widowhood. "It was cool, but honestly the best part was getting lost on the way home. Found a field of wildflowers fenced in with a rainbow fence. Saw a gnarled tree that I swear looked like my granddad. It was so nice to just explore for a while."

Steve nods and seems to tap into Bucky's serenity, the sound of the ocean sparing them from silence. The wind has died down some, but the breeze is nice, cutting through the lingering afternoon heat. Dusk is just starting to creep up the shore, and they haven't seen anyone go past in a while, neither by land nor by sea. Steve finishes his sub first, and Bucky soon after, and they both groan and rub their bellies.

After another moment, Steve says, "I hope you aren't _too_ full. I brought dessert, too."

Bucky's eyes go wide, and he can't help wondering what he did to deserve this treatment. "I can probably make room. What did you bring? Hopefully not ice cream, unless you broke in to put it in the freezer?"

Steve chuckles. "Not ice cream. There's uh, some assembly required." He grabs the dinner bag again and pulls out its remaining contents: chocolate bars, graham crackers, and marshmallows.

"Oh my _god_. I haven't had s'mores in years!" Bucky picks up the bag of marshmallows and looks at the back, licking his lips even as he dutifully checks out the nutrition information he fully intends to ignore.

"Guessin' a city boy like you can't build a fire," Steve says, and his tease earns him a gentle smack from the bag of marshmallows when Bucky throws it at his head. "But I'll be happy to show you how."

Bucky looks around. "Did you bring firewood? I don't know how much more they had, we used a good bit in the fireplace last time you were over."

"There was plenty," Steve assures him. "I was thinking we'd do this out on the beach?" He picks up his phone and waves it. "Should be a clear night and not much wind. Do you trust Sully out there?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine out there with us. I've got a little peg for a leash if needed, but he isn't too likely to wander off."

While Steve works on getting the fire started and preparing the treats, Bucky cleans up their dinner and goes to give Sully his food, with apologies for the lateness. Sully _wuffs_ and noses against Bucky's leg, and all is forgiven.

It's been a warm, late July day, but Bucky knows by now that the nights get cool. He goes around the house finding blankets to bring outside, and he also grabs a couple hoodies, since it didn't look like Steve had dressed for the weather. Piled with warm, snuggly things, Bucky heads back out to find Steve coaxing a flame to life in a small fire pit that Bucky had noted soon after arriving, but had never thought about using. Once he gets the blankets arranged and has Sully settled in with a bone, the fire is roaring happily, occasional sparks leaping up into the darkening sky.

They don't start on the s'mores immediately, still a bit full from dinner, and instead they talk quietly, sitting close and shifting closer until they're shoulder to shoulder. Steve's got one of Bucky's hoodies on, a gray one sporting the logo of one of Bucky's clients. It's a bit too tight across his chest. What a shame.

Steve tells a story from his early days here, on his own and still not entirely sure that it was smart to move away from the city and the meager support system he'd had after his mother passed away. He talks with his hands, something Bucky has sort of noticed before, but now he's transfixed, watching them from this new angle as they sometimes flit close to Bucky's face. These hands built a home, they built a business, they fix boats, they touch Bucky however Bucky asks to be touched.

The next time Steve's right hand ends up near Bucky's face, he grabs it with his left hand, laughing and kissing the back of it when Steve's words stumble, like his ability to speak is tied to the freedom of his hands. Steve manages to keep talking, though, finishing his story, and Bucky realizes he doesn't know one word that Steve's said—he's been _that_ distracted by Steve's talented hands.

The sun fully sets, night draping over them, and when the stars begin to peek out, that's when Steve finally pulls his hand from Bucky's and they start to roast marshmallows. Steve brought some fancy roasting sticks, metal wires with wooden handles. "These look brand new," Bucky says with quirked lips.

"Nah," Steve says, leaning closer to the fire, and Bucky can't tell if that's what makes his cheeks go pink or if he's feeling bashful. "Had 'em for a while, I just don't get to use them too often. Also I clean them when I'm done." He focuses intently on his marshmallow, trying to catch it the moment before immolation so he can pull it out and stick it on the little chocolate and graham cracker bed he's got ready for it.

Bucky, on the other hand, is on Team Flaming Marshmallow, and he crows with delight when the fire catches. He lets it burn, holding it close to his face and grinning wildly, before blowing out the flame and looking upon his thoroughly-charred treat with pleasure. He assembles it as Steve makes gagging sounds, but gosh, he can't hear Steve over the sound of the gooey sugar and gelatin pulling in a thick string as he takes his first bite, eyes closing in pleasure.

He returns to reality to find Steve staring at him. He's about to ask if he's got something on his face, when Steve wipes his thumb over the dimple in Bucky's chin, holding it up to reveal a bit of marshmallow and chocolate that had stuck in Bucky's stubble.

"Ah," Bucky says, and then leans forward to suck Steve's thumb into his mouth, licking off the sugar. Steve lets out a soft sigh, leaning closer. "I hope you're not someone who just stops at one," Bucky teases, before pulling back and stuffing the rest of his s'more into his mouth.

Steve isn't someone who stops at one (kiss or s'more), and their fingers and lips get stickier as they go. Sully sleeps behind them, paying them no mind as they take turns licking messy spots off fingers. Bucky licks a spot of chocolate at the corner of Steve's mouth, and then Steve's hand is in Bucky's hair and they're kissing, all pretense of cleaning each other gone.

It grows cooler as the fire in front of them fades, replaced by the fire within them, between them. Soon, though, Bucky shivers, never having put on a hoodie, and Steve only responds by kicking sand over the fire to put it out totally. Bucky gathers the remnants of their dessert, and together they bring in the blankets, Sully finally getting up and trailing them without complaint.

The blankets get dumped just inside the front door, the leftover ingredients are carefully put away on a kitchen counter, and they stumble into the bedroom, closing the door before the dog can follow them. They kiss more, standing at the side of the bed, hands running over each other's arms to warm up, until the hands slide down to run under shirts, over stomachs and up to chests, pulling their clothes away.

"Playing the long game tonight?" Bucky whispers as he pushes Steve into bed, naked and flushed. "Thought you had to ply me with food first?"

Steve grabs Bucky and sucks on his earlobe, bites gently. "No, hush."

Bucky makes his way down Steve's body, only a little to hide how much he gets turned on by the earlobe action. "Why'd you come over?" he asks, licking his way down Steve's happy trail, nuzzling into the dark thatch of hair between his legs.

"Just 'cause," Steve responds, his fingers threading into Bucky's short hair, though it's short hair that hasn't seen a salon in almost three months, longer than he ever goes between cuts. It's getting shaggy in a way that he always said he didn't like, but when Steve's playing with it, it seems pretty perfect.

He doesn't want to drop the topic, but even more, he wants Steve in his mouth, so he picks the more pleasurable action, and Steve reacts with a gasp and groan, his back arching off the bed and his fingers tightening on the back of Bucky's head. He tastes salty from the day's sweat, a musk that somehow picks up just a bit of the sea with it, and Bucky's getting addicted to it in a way that makes him stop thinking about the future. He licks and sucks, teasing Steve into a mess of whimpers and pleas, pulling away before Steve can come, though, because tonight feels like it should be drawn out like melted marshmallow.

He crawls back up to kiss Steve, licking into him and letting their tongues stroke against each other. The feel of it gives him an idea, which he whispers into Steve's ear, lips brushing over the whorls and edge. " _Eat me_."

Steve shivers—either at the suggestion or the sensation—before growling his agreement and scrambling to shift their positions.

Bucky shoves a pillow under his stomach and hips to lift his ass and spreads his legs for Steve. Steve's large hands settle on his ass, pulling him apart more, and then Steve's tongue, warm and broad, slips over Bucky's hole and draws a mewl out of him, to his surprise. It's been too many years since he's gotten eaten out, even longer since it was good, but he feels like he's going to get to reset that clock after tonight.

Bucky closes his eyes, flexing and clenching his fingers in the blankets rucked up around them. Steve's hands massage Bucky's glutes, thumbs prying his cheeks apart, which feels almost as good as his mouth on Bucky's asshole. He's not shy at all, face pressed shamelessly against Bucky as he licks with enthusiasm, beard soft enough to not be uncomfortably abrasive. The point of his tongue presses into Bucky's hole, past the tight ring of muscle. "Fuck, Steve," Bucky moans, mostly into the pillow, which he bites because sometimes the oldest cliches are the best cliches.

Steve answers something back, but it's muffled because he doesn't let up, continuing to fuck Bucky with his tongue. Based on the finger that suddenly joins in the action, Bucky figures whatever he said was something about that. Steve's tongue and finger take turns pushing into him, stealing Bucky's breath and pushing him higher, higher into exhilaration.

After a second and third finger have been introduced, Steve's tongue entering between them once, Bucky is whining, desperate, and pointing out the lube on the nightstand, next to a nearly-empty box of condoms. "You won't need much," he promises, head turned to the side to speak. "Just to feel comfortable for yourself, 'kay? Want you in me, Steve, want it so bad."

"Calm down," Steve says around a laugh, leaning up to bite Bucky's bottom lip. "You'll get me soon enough." He thrusts his hand into Bucky firmly again, but then pulls out, leaving Bucky sad and whining. The whine gets him a light smack, which makes his pathetic noises turn into a snicker.

Bucky turns his head as best he can, craning around to see what Steve's doing. Steve's head is bent as he carefully strokes himself, rubber in place and adding more slick to his hard length. It's a pretty sight, abdominal muscles flexed, dick slipping through the tight ring of his fingers. Finally he caps the bottle, tossing it aside so it's still in easy reach on the bed. Then, with impressive restraint, he presses against Bucky and pushes in with one long, steady slide.

Behind his eyelids, Bucky can see the sparks from the campfire come to light again as the delicious sensations of pressure and pleasure flood through him. Steve has fucked him a couple times this summer, and it's always deeply satisfying because Steve seems to be able to go forever—that's why they don't often do it this way. Steve gets off faster from sucking or getting fucked, and they don't always have quite enough time to really enjoy this. They haven't said a word tonight about their plans, but there's been a feeling ever since Bucky walked up and saw Steve waiting for him that tonight wasn't about rushing.

Steve's fingers grip Bucky's hips, pulling him back on each thrust to meet him. Bucky groans low and deep as he shifts the arch of his back, squeezing Steve's dick differently. It's so good, fuck, he still can't quite believe he found this kind of summertime treat on this vacation. He'd say he didn't deserve it, but he also really thinks he does.

He probably deserves it for more than just a summer. He hasn't wanted to actively try to date in years, but maybe....

That short train of thought is derailed by Steve leaning down to press his chest to Bucky's back, one hand coming up to cover Bucky's fingers, entwining them. "You like it, darlin'? Tell me you do." It's breathed into Bucky's ear, lips brushing the shell, and Bucky shivers at everything.

"I love it," he says back, his voice a little higher pitched than usual. "Fuck, you act like you're reading the sports page while doing this." His brain catches up then, processing the soft term of endearment that slipped over Steve's tongue. It and the memory of that same tender tongue being so dirty up Bucky's ass makes Bucky's chest clench with something he doesn't have the wherewithal to prod at the moment.

"Never got this hard from a sports page." He chuckles, but then puts his mouth to better work against Bucky's neck, sucking and dragging his teeth just a touch past gentle.

"Better not. _Ahh_." The teeth and a particularly good thrust combine to pull the moan from Bucky's throat. "Stop talking about sports," he adds.

He earns a sharp nip of teeth for that. "You started it." Steve soothes the bite with his tongue right after, and Bucky feels himself melt just a little more.

Their rough breathing is the only sound in the room. Steve's thrusts are smooth and strong, and the bed is sturdy and doesn't creak under their actions. It feels close and intimate in a way they haven't quite reached all summer—a way Bucky didn't expect or even want when this started a couple months ago. In this moment, though, he craves it, wants more from it, and so he does his part to drag it out, keep them in this cocoon as long as possible.

In the end, though, Steve gets to him, as he always does, and Bucky's close to the edge and desperate to fall over. He reaches back and finds Steve's head, holding him close and begging to be touched, to give his cock the attention it needs. Steve is there for him in a moment, stroking Bucky in line with his thrusts and picking up the pace, even if it means shorter movements. They both shift their angles, and Steve hits Bucky in just the right spot and—

And Bucky's flying, coming with his whole body in spasm, until he collapses into his wet spot. It takes a moment for his brian to come back to him, guided by Steve's patient small movements, and he finally turns his head so he can speak clearly, even if it is a little slurred. "You gonna come in me, or do you want my mouth?"

Steve hums softly, like he's really thinking about it, then presses flush against Bucky's ass. "I'll just stay right here. I'm close. Want you to feel everything you do to me."

Well, Bucky can't say no to that. He clenches and grins. "I can turn around, if you wanna see my pretty face?" He gets a hand to the back of his head for that, pushing his face into the pillow. But the tease is enough to get Steve going harder, and within another couple of minutes, Bucky has Steve's breath in his ear and Steve's dick pulsing in his ass, and Bucky almost feels like maybe he could get it up again.

Steve drapes himself all over Bucky, breathing hard and petting Bucky's hair. "Did I kill you?" Bucky asks, but this time his tease is sweeter.

"Just about," Steve answers, pressing a hard kiss against Bucky's cheek. "Makin' me wish I was twenty-five again, that I could go another round in a little bit."

Bucky chuckles and shifts under Steve, half on his side so he can kiss him back. "Yeah, but I wouldn't be into you if you were twenty-five."

The shifting continues, until Steve slides to the side with one leg still slung over Bucky's hips. Bucky faces Steve, brings a hand up between them to brush his fingers over that beard that got so intimate earlier. "Mm, there's a bit of gray in here, see? You wouldn't have that if you were younger."

Steve closes his eyes tight, his nose wrinkling along with the crow's feet at his eyes. It's adorable, and more than a little sexy. "Buck, why you gotta force me to confront my age?"

"Because your age is beautiful on you," Bucky murmurs, leaning in to kiss over one particularly gray patch of beard.

Steve sighs against his cheek, long eyelashes fluttering open again. "Oh yeah?" He nuzzles his nose against Bucky's temple. "You've got gray too here, you know that?"

Bucky snorts unattractively. "Not just there, pal. I definitely dye it back in the real world, but I've been missing my stylist."

"Mm." Steve presses his lips over Bucky's short sideburns. "I like it. Dignified." He grins, still pressed against Bucky's head. "And sexy, for sure." He presses a few soft kisses there. "Consider keeping it, maybe."

Bucky knows that in the ad world, appearances are everything, and so is youth. He's already a little less fit than he used to be, though he's hardly sporting a beer belly or a jowly neck, but Bucky's not sure he's ready to let his hair spill his secrets. But then again, Steve likes it.

"Perhaps," is what he finally comes to say, and then captures Steve's lips with his own, and there's no more talking for a while as they lazily make out. Despite the climaxes and the presumptive end of the sex, Bucky still feels like this evening is stretching to take its time, and that Steve isn't inclined to go anywhere tonight.

They haven't spent the night together yet this summer, aside from that one night here a few weeks back, when Steve was more of a friend and less of a fuckbuddy. Bucky doesn't know what that means, or what it means that they're changing that pattern now. Maybe it just means it's late and Steve is tired and so he's just staying for convenience. Maybe Steve likes spending time around Bucky. Maybe...

Maybe it doesn't matter, because Steve has to pee and gets up, which sends Bucky to peel off the top sheet where they made a mess, figuring they can just pull blankets over them tonight and he'll do laundry in the morning. Bucky takes a turn in the bathroom next. He touches the red places where Steve's teeth made their marks, smiling at them and feeling, despite all their acknowledgement otherwise, that maybe he is a little bit twenty-five again.

When he gets back to the bed, Steve is waiting, still naked, patting the bed beside him while wiggling his eyebrows at Bucky. Bucky scrambles in, pulling the blanket up over them as Steve tucks Bucky into his chest, arms winding around him, legs tangling together. Bucky relaxes to the feel of soft kisses to the back of his neck and head, and he thinks, right on the edge of sleep, that this would be a wonderful way to go to bed every night, with Steve as his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Talli](https://twitter.com/tallihoozoo) for the great art in this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

While Sam finishes closing up, Steve sits on Sam's desk, phone in one hand texting Bucky, idly humming along with the radio and swinging his feet like a little kid. His heels bang against the side of the desk, the dull thump of his sneakers out of rhythm with the music.

"You're not making this easier," Sam mutters, squinting at the screen full of his accounting notes from the day's haul.

"Eh, you're a professional. I believe in you. Chase your dreams. Et cetera." His phone vibrates, and he looks down and grins at the picture of Sully rolled over on his back in the dunes, belly up and legs splayed. Bucky's certainly got his hands full for the night. Steve bites off another bit of the Twizzler knock-off he swiped from Sam's inventory. "This doesn't taste like cherry."

"Jesus Christ, you're a child."

Steve swings his feet more aggressively, really banging his heels into the desk. "Doesn't taste like strawberry, either."

Sam looks up with a sigh. "It's red. I ordered the red flavor. You can go buy actual Twizzlers or Red Vines or whatever the fuck you want over at Carter's," he says, waving vaguely in the direction of the grocery store.

"I like your free ones better," Steve says, smirking at him. "You done yet? You know Nat's not coming tonight, right?"

"Yeah. Clint's ashore, I think."

Steve nods, agreeing silently, and he decides to be nice and let Sam finish his work quickly. He jumps off the desk and pulls up his phone again. Bucky hasn't texted since the picture, but he scrolls back in their conversation. They hadn't texted as much last week, while Becca was in town, and he's glad the normal rhythm has resumed. There'd been a moment earlier today, when Nat confirmed she wasn't available, that Steve considered inviting Bucky along. But Thursdays were the kind of night they begged off if they wanted to spend time with someone else, not the kind of night they brought a plus-one.

Once Sam's closed all the books and locked up for the night, they head out to Stark Naked Wings, the standby plan on Thursdays when one of them can't make it for lobsters. They're nodded over to their usual table, and it's not long before they're presented with a pile of saucy wings.

"So," Sam says, licking his fingers and avoiding Steve's eyes, "I dropped by your place earlier this week after work."

Shit. He knows where this is going.

"Thought maybe we could play some Tiddlywinks."

Yep. Steve knows where this is going.

"But you weren't home."

"Was that Monday night?" Steve asks, shoving more chicken in his mouth. He wasn't home Monday night. All night. Or Tuesday morning. This isn't gonna be a fun conversation, if he knows Sam Wilson.

Sam's eyes flick to Steve. "Why yes, yes it was."

"Mmm." Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then licks the sauce off his hand, staring at the pile of chicken still left in front of them—one of these days, he and Sam will admit they are too old for this "feeds 3-5" platter. "Yeah, I wasn't home that night. Didn't think I had to let my den mother know."

Wisely, Sam doesn't acknowledge that bit of sass. "You with your boat boy?"

Steve thinks carefully before he answers. He knows he doesn't actually owe anyone an explanation. He also knows he's been really adamant to Sam that this thing with Bucky has just been some messing around for the summer.

And he _also_ knows he doesn't really know why he went over without being invited and then stayed the night.

"Yeah," he starts, because he's not going to lie, not to Sam. "Yeah I just went over for dinner, but it got pretty late and just made sense to stay over." Okay, he won't lie a _lot_ to Sam, but some parts, like how Steve invited himself over without any warning, aren't necessarily Sam's business.

Sam picks up and eats an entire wing before speaking again. Steve braces for whatever Sam's about to drop. "Steve, man. You can't fool me. You missed him, and now y'all are cuddlin'."

"I—what? Shut up, _cuddling_ doesn't mean anyth—"

Sam gives him a look, stopping Steve's admittedly half-hearted denial. "Last week, you were half asleep. Spent every day dressed in your Sad Brawny Man cosplay." He sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did you meet up with him and his sister at all when she was visiting? Or was it total radio silence?"

"I did see them. On his boat day. They came back real late in the day." He probably doesn't really hide the petulance he feels. He doesn't like feeling like this—he understands Bucky needed time with his sister, that Steve doesn't really have any claim to Bucky's time.

Sam narrows his eyes. "My point was, you were _miserable_ without him free to meet up. I was surprised to see you start this thing. You really aren't one to get too involved with a tourist. I don't need to hear the details of what you two get up to, but clearly it's done you good this summer." He sips his beer. "You think maybe this keeps going past the summer?"

And there it is, the suggestion that Steve's been waiting on for weeks now, dreading the whole time. "No, Sam. It's not like that, okay? It's just... fuck, forget the cuddling, it's just sex, man, okay?"

"That's bull, buddy, okay? Just total bullshit. You're lyin' to yourself or you're lyin' to me, but I think it's yourself." He gives a crooked grin. "I didn't go over to your place Monday night. But you were just in _such_ a better mood for lunch on Tuesday, I figured there was only one thing that could explain it."

Steve swallows, looks down at his plate, which still has too many wings on it, and tries to organize his feelings. He'd been feeling low all day Monday, coming off a lonely weekend where he felt at odds and ends with nothing to do. No one to do, maybe. He figured he'd go surprise Bucky and didn't plan much beyond that. And that night had been... amazing, truly. Obviously Steve knew they had a bit of fire between them, that they were sexually compatible in just the right ways. But something was different. It felt comfortable, being pulled into bed, sinking almost every bit of himself into his—

His what? Lover? _Summer fling_ feels too flippant now, as much as Steve hates to concede any kind of point to Sam.

Steve groans instead, elbows on the table and his head in his hands. "This wasn't supposed to _happen_ ," he laments, muffled, but he knows Sam's got the hearing of a falcon.

Sam chuckles a little, the smug bastard. "No? So what _is_ supposed to happen when two white boys bang for a whole summer?"

"Well," Steve says, letting out the heavy sigh of a man who knows it's time to admit to having an awkward past, "the last time I fell hard for a summer fling, he left without a word at the end of the summer. Never heard from him again."

That brief but painful story sets Sam's face to Sympathy Mode. "Dude, that sucks. When the hell was this?"

Steve sits back, slouching in a chair not meant for slouching, and sighs again. So much sighing tonight. "God, it was a lifetime ago. Before you arrived to be my conscience. I was like, I dunno? Twenty-two? Twenty-three at the most. Logan was at least forty. He was smart, charming in that asshole way, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, _I know_." Sam gets a napkin ball thrown at him for that.

"I look back and know I was a fool. He never wanted to go _out_ with me. We never talked about it, but... but yeah. I got my heart broken by a summer tourist, and I learned my lesson, y'know? Never... never do that again."

Sam nods."Okay, so why break that promise to yourself? Why with this guy?"

A terrific question, and one Steve doesn't rightly have the answer to. He runs his hand through his hair. "He was hot?" He laughs a little, and Sam joins him. "That's really all it was at first: he was hot and I was hard up, and he was into me, too." He shakes his head. "But we got to know each other. My fatal mistake."

"Why's it a mistake?" Steve starts to respond, but then Sam keeps talking. "Bucky's not twenty years older than you. He likes going out with you and your friends. You get along really well, and if you make him half as cheerful as he makes you?" Sam tips his beer towards Steve. "Not something you should let go, my friend."

"But that's not really my decision to make. He's going to leave in a few more weeks." Steve sits up again, leaning on the table once more. "He might not be ashamed to be seen with me, but he's got an important job and he has a life back in New York."

"You know lots of people do long-distance things, right?"

"I'm not looking for that. I don't want to live my life wondering when someone who matters to me might come back around."

Sam watches him for a few long moments, and Steve can see he's holding something back. Thankfully Sam's both good at giving advice and knowing when advice isn't necessary. Or when it's unwanted.

Dinner finishes in a more subdued manner, even as Sam valiantly tries to bring up lighter topics, but Steve's head is stuck on Bucky, on how he knows he's started feeling around Bucky, and how painful he's realizing the end of summer will really be.

They say goodnight and as Steve heads home, he can't help wondering if, by chance, Bucky will be there waiting for him. But his driveway is empty, no one sitting on his front steps, and even though the night is on the warmer side, he goes to bed feeling cold and alone.

* * *

He stopped circling the day on his calendar over ten years ago. He knows the date, it's burned into his mind like a brand. He doesn't need to call attention to it anymore or spend the week before feeling more and more melancholy.

This year, it sneaks up on him. Not so much the date itself, but the year.

It's been twenty years since Sarah Rogers passed away.

Steve never takes the day off, but he tries to mark the day in her honor. He bakes a pie, his mother's favorite recipe; he reads a few chapters of her favorite book, _The Hobbit_ ; he reflects on the promises he's made to her over the years, both before and after she passed away, makes new ones when they're needed. Usually he's alone. Ten years ago, Sam was still a pretty new friend, and he'd mostly kept the grief hidden, but he mentioned it and they went out for a few extra drinks that night. But that had been a one time occurence. A special occasion. After so much time, the grief is lessened, and it's mostly fond memories that live with him now.

Which is why he hadn't expected to wake up, realize the full impact of the date, and feel his whole chest tighten with the ache of her loss.

Thankfully it's a Sunday, Steve's one and only day truly away from work. Most weeks, he ends up doing the paperwork and financial bullshit that comes with running his own business, but he never has to go to the marina. And today….

Today he manages to get out of bed and shower, manages to eat some breakfast, and then he's standing on his front porch, looking out over the mist rising up from the ocean into the trees that surround him, and he feels something deep inside _crack_. He bends over, a sob escaping, and drops to his knees, his hands coming up to catch his head. Steve loses time as he kneels there, crying and wondering where this has come from after all these years.

Later—he doesn't know how much later—he pulls his phone from his pocket and sends a text message: _Weird ask, but can you come over today? Explain when you're here. Bring Sully along. It's ok if you are busy._

It takes almost ten minutes for a response to come through, which has his anxiety cranking up, but finally, his phone pings.

> _**Bucky:** Give me a half-hour to get together, and Sully and I will be there. That okay?_

Steve actually smiles, just a small one, as he responds with the thumbs-up and, without really thinking about it, red heart emojis.

He's back inside when Bucky arrives, but the outer door is fully open, and the screen door is slightly propped, so Sully's able to nose his way in after he runs over from Bucky's SUV. "Hey, pal," Steve murmurs to the German Shepherd, petting him roughly all over as he's sniffed in return. Shoes scrape against the wooden steps, and Steve looks up to see Bucky smiling at him with clear confusion in his eyes. "Buck," says Steve, standing to go get the hug he desperately needs.

"Hiya," Bucky says, some concern in his voice, but he hugs back, tight and warm, and Steve relaxes a little more in his arms. "Everything okay? Didn't seem like an emergency, right?"

Steve shakes his head, face buried in the crook of Bucky's neck. "No, no. Nothin' like that. I just." He sighs and stands straighter, nodding for Bucky to come in and follow him to the living room.

Bucky turns to face Steve, arm propped on the back of the couch and fingers running through Steve's hair. It feels marvelous and he closes his eyes, relaxing back into the affection. He should explain what the hell is going on in his head— _tell_ Bucky what the hell is going on in his head—but he doesn't often get taken care of in this way, and if Bucky's not asking, he's glad enough to wait until he feels ready to say it.

"It's twenty years, today," he says quietly a bit later. "Since my ma died."

The soft sound Bucky makes threatens to rip off the very flimsy bandage Steve's slapped across his heart. "Oh, Steve. I'm sorry." Bucky leaves a kiss in Steve's hair, lingering for a moment before pulling away.

Steve expects Bucky to ask something, or to talk about his own experience with grief, but Bucky leaves it at his condolences. There's a hint in the air between them, though, that feels like Bucky's just waiting for Steve to want to tell him more. Steve appreciates Bucky _so_ much.

He clears his throat. "She'd been sick, so we knew it was coming. Didn't make it easier, though. I'd just turned eighteen, just finished high school for fuck's sake. I didn't know what the hell I was gonna do without her."

As Steve talks more, telling Bucky about a woman he's lived without longer than he lived with, they shift on the couch. Bucky lies down and pulls Steve on top, cradling him and rubbing his back, leaving soft touches on his head, face, shoulders. Steve hasn't felt so taken care of since... well, since his mother passed away. Eventually the tears come back, though they're quiet now, leaving the deep sobs to that first crack of grief in the morning. Bucky lets him cry, wipes the tear tracks from his cheeks, and never once suggests that twenty years is too long to still miss his mother this much, that a man nearing forty shouldn't still have this kind of sadness in his heart.

Eventually the stories shift from the sad last days and the nightmare of dealing with estates and funeral homes and cleaning out closets to stories from further back, growing up with a single mom who worked her ass off to give her kid the world.

"She'd take me on vacation every summer, somewhere out of the city. Camping in the woods, or a little motel by the ocean, something like that. We'd hit amusement parks, try to find a roller coaster that made us feel as good as the Cyclone did."

Bucky laughs a little at that, Steve's body jostling with his laugh. "Like, the Coney Island Cyclone?"

Steve looks up, catches his eye. "Yeah? Oh." He thinks back over all the words he's said. "Did I never say I grew up in Brooklyn?"

Bucky laughs more, running his hand over Steve's face playfully. "No, you really did not. That's where I grew up, too. Funny, huh?" It's funnier still as they find out they lived only a few blocks away from each other, but Bucky being a grade older and attending a private Catholic school while Steve was in public meant they never really had a chance to meet.

"I bet we walked past each other or something one time," Bucky says. "In all those years? Running 'round like I owned the place like I did?" He chuckles. "I had to have seen you at some point." He traces a finger along the bend on Steve's nose. "Maybe I'm the one who gave you that broken nose."

"That nose has been broken more than a couple times," Steve admits. "I was constantly in trouble for getting in fights. And I was a little guy, so I was always losin'."

"Oh," Bucky says, a little relief in his voice, "then it wasn't me. I didn't pick on little guys. Actually I never really got into fights much until high school. Dressed like a queer, they said."

Steve snorts. "And why would you have done that, Bucky Barnes?"

"Because I'm queer as in fuck you," he says mildly.

"Mm. Like it when you fuck me."

Bucky bumps his nose against Steve's forehead, breathing a soft "yeah." Then Bucky nudges his shoulder, encouraging Steve to sit up, letting Bucky up, too. "You eat yet today?" Bucky asks, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Steve's cheek.

"Yes," Steve says, but his stomach growls anyway. "Could probably do with some lunch now, though."

Bucky nods and smiles. "You want me to make something? Or I can go out and get some food? Or we could go out together, if you feel like leaving?"

Steve thinks about it for a moment, though the idea of going out right now is quickly struck from the options. "I've, uh, I've got some frozen chicken nuggets in there if you want to heat those up? Should be enough for the both of us."

"I love that." He stands, makes a gesture to Sully who lifts his head at his master's movement, and Sully drops his head down into his snoozing position again. "You two stay here, I'll rustle up some nugs."

Steve watches as Bucky makes his way to the kitchen. There isn't anything to block Steve's view of Bucky as he works on the food, but he appreciates the option to take a bit of space back, use the time to gather himself again. Steve makes small talk like a pro and he has no issues chatting with his friends around town, but he doesn't open up about himself very much. Certainly, not to talk about his past life in the streets of Brooklyn, not for—what, an hour or two?—and not to Bucky.

He does feel better, though. He's glad for following his urge to ask Bucky over, glad for not obeying the small piece of him that warned him not to be too vulnerable. A small voice inside, which sounds a bit like Sam, points out that this is the kind of comfort one gets from a romantic partner. A boyfriend, if Steve can imagine still being young enough to use that term. He runs his hand through his hair, winces, and gets up to head to the bathroom to wash his face.

Thing is, he thinks, as he splashes his face with cool water, if Bucky hadn't been around, or available, or was just his customer like he always should have been, then Steve would have been fine today. He would have had a little cry in peace, known he should probably go out for lunch, done his paperwork at Nat's in the back corner, then come back for the annual pie and book and old movies, and he would have been _just fine_.

He turns off the water and the murmur of Bucky's voice talking to Sully comes through the door. He can't make out specific words, but it's nice, having another voice in the house. He didn't realize how empty his house has been—how empty he has been—since he's had Bucky around to fill those spaces. Yeah, he'd be fine without Bucky, but maybe being fine isn't enough any more.

Labor Day is in just four weeks, and Steve suddenly dreads it more than he's ever dreaded the end of a summer.

* * *

It's a misty Thursday, overcast and wet. The rain's not heavy enough to fully shut down the rentals, but foot traffic has been minimal. So Steve is sitting in his shanty, brooding in a damp fleece pullover that's too warm for the summer day, just trying to make it to three o'clock, when he feels he can close up without getting an angry voicemail.

He's passed his time texting with Bucky mostly, talking about inconsequential things like how Sully only wants to fight the waves today, how wet Bucky's gotten because of it, and how Steve doesn't need a play by play as Bucky gets back inside and dries off. Bucky laughs at him, promising to save it for an in-person show another time.

Steve sighs, putting his phone down, and then he groans because he's got a fuckin' heart boner going, and he's mad at himself again for daring to develop feelings.

"You okay in there, Cap'n?" The question is followed by a rap on the door to Steve's right, where Clint Barton stands waving, his blonde hair damp and flattened from the light rain.

Steve waves at Clint and gestures for him to come in. "Just a fool, nothing too different from usual," he says.

Clint taps against his ear. "Sorry, maybe these are malfunctioning. Sounds like you said you're a fool?" Steve grins and shrugs. "Well, that's bullshit. You're probably the least foolish person I know."

"Not Nat?" Steve asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Ha! She's with me, ain't she? Totally foolish decision on her part." Clint winks. "But I love my fool." He looks vaguely towards A Widow's Bite and the look on his face is intensely smitten. It makes Steve smile, happy to see his friend so happy.

"You two crazy fools planning to make anything official?" he asks once Clint looks at him again, just in case Clint's hearing aids _are_ having a little trouble with the weather. He knows Clint canget along without them, and they've been friends long enough for Steve to make sure Clint can read his lips before he speaks, just in case.

Clint shrugs and lifts and lowers his hands alternate to each other, signing, _Maybe._ "I'm ashore for a bit. Maybe staying longer than you'd expect. I don't know how much I'm going back out there," he admits, hooking a thumb over his shoulder towards the boats and the sea.

That surprises Steve. As long as he's known Clint, about seven years now, the man has loved his life spent mostly on his boat. The crew on Clint's fishing boat is so tight they developed their own hand signals. And even if there's no fishing jobs for a while, he's usually taking trips round the Atlantic, down south in the winter, sometimes across the ocean to the Azores in summer.

"Man, but you practically live on that boat."

"Yeah. But she lives here. And maybe I need to be here more often so we can really find out if what we have is worth it to spend so much time apart."

Steve blinks, slowly, and for a moment he wonders if Sam has put Clint up to this. But Sam doesn't meddle like that, and Steve's heard Nat say things that line up with her wishing Clint wasn't gone so often. "Um. Wow. I mean, has she asked you to quit fishin'?"

"No, definitely not. I don't think she expects that?" Clint laughs a little. "But that's the point, we haven't, I dunno, we haven't sat down and talked about it. Haven't tried to figure out what the extremes are, so we can't figure out the compromise."

"At least you know, though, that you've got enough there to try and find that compromise. Right? You know you want to try. And that's good. That's important."

Clint runs his hand through his hair, helping it to stick up at wild angles. "Yeah. But maybe we should've done this earlier? I don't know, bro. It's messy, but I want to figure it out. I won't feel right if I just let it go."

Steve stares at him for a too-long moment, then blinks slowly again, as if doing so will clear his mind of this hallucination he's clearly having, with Clint playing the part of his conscience.

Clint touches Steve's shoulder. "You sure you're okay, bro?"

Steve swallows, focusing again on the very real man in front of him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just—I think I know what you're feeling right now. A little bit, anyway." He takes a deep breath. "Maybe I have my own conversation to get started."

"Oh yeah?" Clint grins. "Good, you should definitely have one." He touches his fingers to his chin, hand flat, then pulls it away to quickly spell out _L-U-C-K_. Steve laughs and signs _Thanks_ in return—he'll need all the good luck he can get.

* * *

It takes an entire week for Steve to get the guts to invite Bucky over for dinner. Steve's got some fresh cod that he's deboned and prepared to batter and fry, with potatoes all set to join the fish. For dessert: blueberry pie and brownies, because he can't remember if Bucky has said anything about preferring fruit pies; either way, there's also ice cream in the freezer, just in case.

He's nervous as hell. No getting around that. It shows in how he over-cleans the whole house, including buying brand new sheets for the bed. He talks to himself as he fights with the fitted sheet, his tone mocking for having the gall to assume Bucky's going to be visiting this bed tonight.

"Shut up," he also says, because what's more totally normal and fine than having two sides of a discussion alone? "If he wants to keep it to this summer, then fine, and maybe we can have another fuck anyway."

There's still fifteen minutes before Bucky's meant to arrive, so he paces the front room restlessly, muttering the different ways he's thought about admitting his feelings to Bucky.

"Buck, I know you got a life back in New York, but I think we could try something."

"Look, babe, I don't want to stop this when you go home."

"Bucky, I might be falling—" He stops there, not ready to make that full admission, even when totally alone. "Shit." He runs his hand through his hair, grumbling a little, but before he can start chastising himself, a car pulls into the driveway, and he knows he's run out of time.

It's still ten minutes before Bucky's meant to be here, though, so maybe Bucky's feeling particularly eager, too. Is that good? Does that mean this might go all right?

Bucky strolls up to the door with a grin cocked and sunglasses resting in his hair, wearing a loose black v-neck tee and some unfairly sexy gray joggers. "Hi," he says to Steve, who opens the door for him. Bucky pecks a kiss to his lips, and Steve feels his nerves settle somewhat, just enough that he's able to say hello back without his voice shaking.

Their usual process for a night like this, where Steve has invited Bucky over via text and without much context or planning, has been to start kissing immediately once the door is closed and make their way back to the bedroom. Steve wants to set a different tone right away, so he takes Bucky's hand, laces their fingers together, and leads Bucky to the living room. A bottle of wine sits on the coffee table, and Steve pours them each a glass. They settle onto the couch, shoulders pressed together while they hold hands. Bucky tells him how he spent the last couple of days since they last met for lunch, and Steve listens happily.

Halfway through their wine, after Bucky's talked about the hike he and Sully took yesterday in Bradley Palmer State Park, he sighs and lifts Steve's hand to kiss his knuckles. "So what have you been up to?"

"I'm making dinner," Steve says, and Bucky looks interested. "Homemade fish and chips, is that okay?"

"Homemade?" Bucky asks, smiling brightly. "Did you catch the fish yourself?"

Steve snorts, shaking his head. "Not slightly. I'm terrible at fishing. No patience for it. But Thor brought it in yesterday and I've kept it on ice, so it's pretty close to fresh out of the ocean."

"Lucky me."

"You _are_ lucky, so cut the sass, sassafras." Steve grins and Bucky pokes his stomach. "It'll be all hand-breaded and fried, and I have potatoes to fry up for chips."

Bucky looks surprised. "Really? I figured they'd be some frozen ones that you cooked up. You usually this culinarily inclined?"

"Not usually," Steve admits. "I know how to cook and everything, but I don't do it much. Hard to get inspired when it's just for one person."

"Lucky you that I'm around, then," Bucky says, his voice a little softer and warmer now. It takes a lot for Steve not to lean in and kiss him for that, tell him just how lucky he feels—but that's for later; he's not ready to confess that much yet.

Instead, he winks at Bucky and pushes up. "You wanna come help, or chill out here and watch TV?" Bucky stands, too, and follows Steve to the kitchen, perching on the breakfast bar to watch as Steve makes their dinner. They chat idly while Steve cuts the fish into two-bite lengths, and then Bucky jumps down to get started on the potatoes. Cooking together is new, and it's _fun_ , starting with Bucky's insistence to call Steve "Chef." They work well together, Bucky passing over salt with only a half-asked question and a vague shaking motion when Steve loses the word, and Steve can almost imagine that they have been dating for real this whole time.

Once everything is fried up and plated, they sit side by side at the breakfast bar while they eat, playing at stealing fries from each other. It feels comfortable in a way that surprises Steve, and the surprise itself is a little unexpected. They've slept together at least twice a week for most of the summer, so clearly they get along, they're physically compatible. Why shouldn't they be able to tease, be playful, behave in many ways that are indicative of two people who are intimate with each other?

But still, he knows they made a deal. He knows Bucky may not want to change that deal.

After dinner, they clean up like a team, Bucky scrubbing and Steve drying and putting things away. Steve feels his heart in his throat the whole time, and he wants to run and go knock Sam and Clint's heads together—he was doing fine, just _fine_ , until they showed up with advice and opinions. By the time he and Bucky are back on the couch, cuddling up and play-fighting for the remote, Steve can barely keep from bursting with too many feelings at once. He finally gets the remote, and tucks it behind himself before grabbing Bucky's hands.

"Well, that's cheating," Bucky says, half-heartedly trying to free his hands for a moment, before he turns them so his fingers lace with Steve's.

Steve chuckles and squeezes Bucky's hands. "Hold on a sec. I... I wanna talk to you about something."

Bucky stiffens a little, barely enough to notice, but Steve does notice, of course. "You wanna talk, huh?"

"Yeah..." He winces. "Sorry, that sounds so serious." It is serious, though. He swallows. "Labor Day's in a couple weeks. So you're, uh, going home soon."

Bucky looks down at their hands. "Yep. Gotta... gotta get back to the real world."

Steve feels his heart break a little at how Bucky describes it, but that also emboldens him. "If that's the real world, then what has this summer been?"

"Honestly, it's been... God, this has been everything I've needed for so long." Bucky sighs, letting his head drop down against Steve's shoulder, leaning into him. "I've been so burnt out from work."

"I'm glad you found some relaxation up here." He means it, even if the fact that Bucky went to talking about work first sinks in his gut a little. "And I hope you remember it, you know? How it feels to take time for yourself." He lifts a hand into Bucky's hair, stroking lightly.

Bucky hums. "It's been easier with you to take me out of myself." He tips his head up, presses a kiss just under Steve's chin.

Steve takes a deep breath. "You've been good for me, too. Reminding me there's more than just running a business." He strokes his fingers down Bucky's ear, feeling the man in his arms shiver just a little. "So... I dunno. What if we don't... stop? When you leave, I mean."

Bucky stills in Steve's arms, his breath shallower than it had been. The silence that fills the room is a physical presence; it's a growing weight on Steve's chest. He considers laughing it off, making it a joke, but Bucky finally speaks. "It's kind of a long commute for a booty call, Steve."

He allows himself a soft chuckle. "It is, yeah." He lowers his voice to barely a whisper. "But what if it wasn't a booty call? What if we were just... dating?"

Bucky sighs, almost a little impatient, but he also presses closer to Steve. "That's still a long way for a date."

The important thing, Steve figures, is that Bucky hasn't said no.

"I do have the internet here. We can FaceTime. Talk dirty on the phone. Eat spaghetti together." He swallows hard. "I can come to visit you. My off-season is very quiet."

Bucky sighs again, but this time he pushes up so he can look into Steve's eyes. "Steve, it's... we're not kids going off to college in two different cities. It's not like we've been dating and I got a job in a different city." He reaches up to cup Steve's face. "We've spent a summer fucking, that's—"

Steve frowns. " _Don't_ say that it's all this has been. Come on. You know there's been more."

His eyes widen as he takes that in, and Bucky nods. "Yeah," he whispers. "There's been more."

They haven't decided anything yet, but that admission alone is enough for Steve to pull Bucky in for a hard kiss. Bucky shifts to kiss him back just as hard, both hands coming up to cup Steve's face. For long moments this is all there is, this kiss between them, Bucky's gentle fingers, Steve's feelings ballooning like hope, before Bucky pulls back and whines softly.

" _Steve_ ," he says, dragging his lips across Steve's cheek. "Fuck, Stevie, I want..."

"What do you want, Buck?" Steve clutches him close. "Because I want _you_. I want to try to make something work with you, baby."

Bucky nods, wrapping his arms tightly around Steve's neck. "I want that, too. I want you."

Steve rubs Bucky's back. "Okay. Then we figure it out. That's it. We find some way to make this work between us. We drive some grooves along 95 between our homes if we have to."

"I'll run it like Forrest Gump if I have to." Bucky sits back, smiles at Steve. "This is a stupid idea, isn't it?"

"No." He lets his hands slip up the back of Bucky's shirt a little as he keeps rubbing gently. "It's only stupid if you don't understand what it means. What it'll take. I think we understand that this won't be easy, that it'll take time and patience, right?"

Bucky nods, closing his eyes, letting out a breath. "Yeah. We know that. We're not teenagers or twenty-somethings who are just imagining love is going to fix it all." Bucky chuckles drily. "We know that this... that this might not even be _love_." He looks at Steve, a little uncertain. "Right?"

"Yeah, darlin'," Steve says with a little snicker. "I'm not saying anything more than there's enough here to try it." He licks his lips. "I'm... I'm saying that if you were just going back to Boston, or if you'd moved here this summer for keeps, I would have asked you out on a real date instead of taking you right to bed."

Bucky snorts. "You assume I wouldn't still take you right to bed."

"Okay, true. And maybe that first afternoon would have been the same, but I wouldn't have made a summer-only deal with you after. I would have asked you out and been really dating you the whole time." Which, when he thinks about it too long, makes him sad. He could have had more of Bucky the whole time, maybe.

"I don't know if I would have agreed to date you," Bucky admits, which catches Steve off-guard. "But I was..." He smiles, crooked and holding more secrets. "I was in a different place when I first got here. But... you know my sister thought you were my boyfriend."

Steve thinks back to meeting Becca. She'd been nice, friendly, easy to chat with, and Steve sort of wished Bucky had brought his sister around for a dinner together, or had Steve over to visit. At the time, he'd dismissed those thoughts, tried not to think about why he'd had them. Because, of course, he wasn't Bucky's boyfriend. It seems that he'd done something to give Becca a different impression, though.

"Well. Maybe she's just psychic," Steve offers with a grin.

Bucky shakes his head. "Nah, if she was, I would be, too. Twins," he reminds Steve.

"Totally forgot." He totally didn't, just like he hasn't forgotten most of what Bucky's told him this summer, which really should have been a sign. "I hope I'll get to meet her again sometime."

Bucky nods, humming, but then shakes his head. He shifts position so he's straddling Steve's lap. "Enough talking about my sister. I wanna do it with my boyfriend." He ducks his head and starts nibbling Steve's neck.

Steve's hands have gone to Bucky's ass, gripping it firmly. "I like the way you think."

They make out a little on the couch, but soon they're up and heading for the front door, because if they're going to spend the night together, they can't leave Sully alone.

Bucky's rented SUV is spacious, which right now is annoying because Steve wants to be closer while they drive. They hold hands across the center console while Steve watches Bucky in profile, the way his lips curve up naturally, and twitch higher as Bucky realizes he's being watched.

"Stop looking like you wanna eat me up, Steve. I'm driving here."

"Which is why I'm only looking at you, not actually trying to devour you."

The drive is quick enough, and when they get inside, Sully is happy to welcome Bucky back home. To Steve's surprise, the dog runs up to him next, like he's a normal returning member of the household. Dogs, man. Dogs are great. Bucky calls for Sully and holds up his leash, and the dog trots over obediently.

"I'll take him out quick," Bucky says, gesturing to the door. "You, uh. You wanna get yourself ready?"

Steve nods. "Yeah, take your time. We've got all night." He's rewarded with a quick, sweet kiss and a wink, plus the vision of Bucky's backside headed for the door. His _boyfriend's_ backside.

Once the door blocks Steve's view, he heads first to the kitchen and fills two glasses with water, then brings them into the bedroom and places one at each bedside table. The bed wasn't made this morning, but that just makes his tasks easier. He strips off his jeans and shirt, but leaves his briefs on because they have little rubber duckies on them and he feels like being cute tonight.

It's not long before he hears Bucky in the living room, getting Sully set to sleep tonight. He feels mildly bad about putting Sully out of his normal space in the room with Bucky, but maybe they can open the door once they're done and somewhat dressed again. Still, Sully didn't seem too put out the last time Steve spent the night here—the one time they've actually spent the night together.

When Bucky finally comes in, Steve's striking a casual pose, having snatched the book off Bucky's nightstand and holding it up like he's reading it—it's upside down, but it's not like he expects it to be in his hands very long.

"You're such a dork," Bucky says, and he does grab the book out Steve's hands immediately, tossing it aside and straddling Steve's legs in one smooth movement. "And what are _these_?" he asks, plucking at the waistband of Steve's duckies.

"They're my rubber ducky briefs," Steve responds, like that's a perfectly reasonable sentence.

"They're hilarious, is what they are. And I don't want to take them off." Bucky lays out along Steve, and Steve nuzzles at Bucky's neck.

"I suspect that I can convince you otherwise. Eventually." Bucky laughs and kisses him once, twice, and then collapses next to Steve, resting on his side. Steve shifts to his side, facing Bucky and kissing his nose. "Hey."

Bucky wrinkles his nose and pinches Steve's hip in return. "I'm way more dressed than you are."

"True. You could strip down to your skivvies, too. I'll watch."

There's a shift of color to Bucky's cheeks. "Well. I may have assumed we'd end up in a... compromising position. And dressed to, ah, hurry us along."

Steve's brain takes a few moments to do all the math on that, and then he grins wickedly. "Are you saying you're going commando?" Before Bucky has a chance to answer, Steve is pulling at the waistband of Bucky's joggers, and lo, there's no sign of anything else underneath.

"I can still make you go switch places with Sully," Bucky grumbles as he bats Steve's hand away. Steve relents by cupping the back of Bucky's head and pulling him into a firm, deep kiss. They melt against each other, and then all the sassing and snark is gone. Bucky's shirt is removed when they pull apart for a moment, and Steve kindly removes the rubber duckies before he strips off Bucky's joggers with his hands and feet.

They don't fuck tonight, not like they have most of their time together. Steve's not sure he's ready to call it _making love_ , but it's trending in that direction. They take their time, sort of edging in a more gentle way. They use their hands and mouths on each other, gliding over skin and teasing, drawing out the pleasure. Bucky spends a long time between Steve's legs, laying kisses over his flesh and making Steve writhe without ever touching him anywhere particularly sensitive. Just the idea that Bucky's his is enough to get Steve going, keep him on the edge, and as Bucky climbs his body again, kissing him deeply, Steve feels something inside him knit back together.

When they finally come and settle into the afterglow, they're slick with sweat and beaming at each other. Steve's feelings are reflected in Bucky's shining eyes, the tattoo of his heart singing in Steve's veins. They exchange loose, wet kisses, lick their release off each other's bodies, and finally curl up closely together to fall asleep.

Steve can't remember the last time he was this happy.

* * *

The happy feeling sticks around the next morning as they fight over sink space, brushing their teeth in their underwear.

"I should have had an overnight bag prepared," Steve says, rinsing off the spare toothbrush they found under the sink.

Bucky turns away from the mirror, where he's been fluffing his sleep-mussed hair, and looks Steve over with obvious interest. "I dunno. Means I get another crack at the duckies."

Steve turns his back and then smirks over his shoulder, drawing down one corner to show off a cheek, and he jumps away, laughing, when Bucky swipes and misses. Bucky pushes Steve back against the door, their bodies pressed flush together, initiating a deep and filthy kiss.

Bucky finally pulls back, arches an eyebrow, and says, "Told you, I like the duckies," before sliding down to his knees.

Later, after Bucky has brushed his teeth again and they both throw on some clothes, Steve in one of Bucky's tees and his jeans from last night, they head out to the kitchen for some breakfast. Steve pours kibble for Sully while Bucky looks into the fridge. Must not be good news considering the weight of his sigh.

"Hey, I don't know why I didn't ask you immediately after hearing you were from Brooklyn: is there anywhere up here that does an even halfway decent bacon-egg-and-cheese?"

Just the name of the venerated New York City staple sends Steve back to his senior year of high school, grabbing a BEC at his favorite bodega on the way to school every Friday. He lets out a soft moan, which makes Bucky snicker.

"Not really," Steve laments, cocking his hip out to lean against the counter. "Dunks's got some okay stuff, but nothing can live up to the real thing." He thinks for a moment. "Bruce has some good rolls, so we can probably make our own if we pick some up?"

"Mm, yeah, that sounds—wait, a _roll_?" Bucky's face turns to one of mock contempt. "No, Steve, _bagel_ , always a bagel."

Steve is forced to wonder if he truly knows this man at all. "What, are you kidding me? A roll!" His hands shape the perfect sandwich of his memory. "It's soft, you can fit it into a pocket better—"

"Yeah, and it gets _smushed_ in there! A bagel holds the cheese better, too."

Steve just stares at him. "I don't know if this relationship can go on," he says, but the corners of his lips are quirking, belying his deadpan tone.

"I'll have to always question your decisions," Bucky replies, "but on the bright side, you'll never steal my breakfast." Bucky walks over and slides his arms around Steve's waist. "I think we can be a bagel-roll relationship. You still want to try?"

Bucky's eyes are sparkling, his fingers slipped up under Steve's shirt to stroke along his skin, and this is the easiest question Steve's ever answered.

* * *

"Is he coming?"

Steve looks up from his phone to see Nat sitting next to him, smiling blandly. Her eyes give her away, though—she is genuinely curious, and possibly hoping for a specific answer.

"I invited him," Steve says, purposefully vague, but he also knows that alone will speak volumes.

They're back at Stark Naked Wings, but it's a townie-only night to unwind a couple weeks before Labor Day arrives. Almost everyone who lives or works in town comes by for at least a little bit, but there's one rule that has no exceptions: no tourists are allowed in for the evening.

The exception to the no-exceptions rule, though, permits significant others to attend. This generally applies to college kids who are here to work for the summer, like Steve's band of misfits—though he's caught Billy and Teddy necking in boats they were supposed to be cleaning more than a couple times, so they at least don't need a plus one. The true townies, who live here all year, rarely bring someone who doesn't live in Shield Bay or a neighboring town.

And so Steve inviting Bucky to the party is _significant_ , and Nat isn't an idiot.

"I'm glad," she says, kissing his cheek and then standing up. "You deserve that," she adds over her shoulder as she walks away, leaving him sitting alone and grinning like a fool.

They went on an Official First Date two nights ago, back to Dugan's in Howling Trees, since that was already sorta their first date place, anyway. They played footsie under the table while holding hands across it, and their server remembered them from earlier in the summer and called them sweet.

Tonight is their first public venture as an official couple, and Steve is nervous. He knows it's silly—almost everyone has met Bucky and all of Steve's closest friends like him. Sam and Nat have been almost begging Steve to do something about his feelings, after all. But it's still a little nerve-wracking, especially since Steve walked over right after work, which means Bucky is meeting him here and Steve has to sit and wait.

His phone buzzes in his hand again.

> _**Buck:** I'm here, had to park by the marina! Door looks locked?_

Perking up, Steve quickly responds, _Oh yeah, come around to the back, go on the left side. It's propped open. Keeps the tourists out._ He stands up and strides to the employee entrance, barely resisting the urge to run.

> _**Buck:** Do I need to give a password? Speak "townie" and enter?_

Steve laughs, and pokes his head out the back door just in time to almost crack skulls with Bucky.

"Jesus!" Bucky takes a step back, his hand going to his heart.

"That's not the password," Steve teases, stepping outside and sliding an arm over Bucky's shoulders. They quickly kiss each other hello, and Steve winks at him. "I put your name on the list, so you're allowed in tonight."

They start walking in, and while Steve's arm falls back to his side, Bucky grabs his hand and holds it tightly. "Is there really a list?"

Steve chuckles, shrugging. "I mean, there's no _written_ list that anyone's gonna check. But we all know who lives here and who doesn't."

Bucky stops, and Steve stops with him. "I don't live here," he points out. "Steve..."

"It's okay, Buck, really." He brushes the backs of his fingers over Bucky's cheek. "I live here and I invited you. I wouldn't have if I didn't think you belonged here this year."

_This year_. That's important. It doesn't set an expectation going forward. This year is the year Bucky has spent time living here, getting to know everyone, making his own space in their community. Now they're dating, and if things go well, maybe that means Bucky will be back next year, but Steve's leaving that open for them both to decide.

"All right." Bucky doesn't sound totally convinced, but he also doesn't seem like he's going to leave.

"Come on, if we don't get in there, Clint and Thor will eat all the wings."

They emerge into the main dining area to no particular reaction. Peter, who has claimed a table with America, Kate, and Billy and Teddy, gives Steve a nod and a lazy salute; Sam waves them over to his table with Nat and Clint; otherwise, no one even seems to notice them.

"Dig in, boys," Nat says, gesturing to their pile of wings, so they do. Everyone is chatting around them, and Sam starts off the hallowed tradition of telling his favorite stories of ridiculous customers from the summer. Steve shares a few memorable moments of outrageous behavior, and has fun making the occasional implication that Bucky was the troublemaker in question. Sharon and Bruce come by to add their tales, then Nat, always one for the dramatic, wraps things up with her top five bizarre patrons of the season.

"And finally, there's the _ultimate_ weird customer story." The look on her face makes Steve sit up straighter, already feeling defensive. "This guy shows up in skinny jeans the day after Memorial Day, and asks for recommendations of things to do. I, being the kind and generous soul you all know me to be, send him to Rogers Rentals." All subtlety leaves her smirk as she looks at Bucky. "I meant to do a boat rent _al_ , not do the boat rent _er_ ," she teases.

Sam and Clint laugh, and Steve chuckles as well, ducking his head and looking over to Bucky, hoping that Bucky's taking the tease as kindly as it's intended. He's got his chin propped on his hand, looking straight at Nat and smirking back.

"I might have believed that two months ago," he says, "but by now I know you well enough to know that is _bullshit_. You definitely meant for me and Steve to hook up." Steve also feels that's the case, but they haven't talked about it, and he's impressed that Bucky noticed it as well.

Natasha picks up a wing and dips it in bleu cheese. "You can't prove it."

Clint snorts. "Babe, you are absolutely a matchmaker, and if you ever give up the restaurant, you'll start a dating service and put these two on your list of successes." She smacks him for that.

Bucky lifts his beer. "Thanks, though. I'm glad you were trying to set Steve up this summer." They all chuckle more as Natasha takes a little bow, and then the topic drops. Steve's not sure how he feels about this relationship being referred to as a success yet, but if she was just meaning for the summer, then that, at least, has been a success for sure.

A loud, barrel-chested laugh catches everyone's attention, and all eyes turn to Thor, who is pounding Teddy—who is on the burly side, though no match for Thor's bulk—on the back. Teddy winces and nods at Thor, and dashes away as soon as he can. Steve shoots Thor a questioning look, which pulls the big guy over to sit next to Steve.

"Did you know," Thor says, his conspiratorial whisper barely even a stage whisper, "that your employees have taken to getting frisky at the docks in the evening?"

Steve snorts. "Not just the evening!" He keeps his voice lower, not wanting to totally embarrass Teddy and Billy in this crowd—he'd like them to come back next year to work for him again. "They're good boys, those two."

Thor blinks at Steve, and then his face almost tears itself in two for how big and bright his smile is. "No, I meant _the girls_."

It's Steve's turn to blink, and he turns to look at the other four at the table, all of whom are snickering into hands and napkins. "Kate and America?" he asks, barely able to keep a whisper this time. "Since _when_?"

Nat shrugs, which means she absolutely knows; Steve looks to Clint, who shakes his head. "I have definitely never caught Kate coming off the marina way after hours with her hair a mess and shirt on backwards."

Sam's now tearing up from laughing so hard, so Steve looks at Bucky, someone who should certainly be as surprised as Steve.

"Oh, Steve. You clearly need to review your security tapes more often." His eyes are bright and sparkling, and Steve _hmphs_ and shakes his head.

"You're all terrible enablers for not telling me."

Natasha scoffs at that. "If I didn't enable shit, you wouldn't be with Bucky, so don't get mad at me."

Steve frowns. "I could've asked him out without your help," he says, but he knows it's probably not true. As unlikely as him dating a customer has been, it would be even less likely that he'd chase a tourist he didn't know at all.

"Nah, she's right," Bucky says, traitorously. "I would've gone to Arthur's instead." That sets off everyone laughing hard again, even Steve. Bucky frowns, the confusion wrinkling his forehead, drawing out his crow's feet that Steve loves so much. "What?"

"We'll go meet Arthur this weekend," Steve promises, and he kisses Bucky's cheek.

"Barton," Thor says, tapping his fingers hard on the table. "Were you going to tell Steve your idea?"

"Hmm?" Clint looks up, shaking his head. "Sorry, what was that?"

Steve points to himself, pulling Clint's attention. "You have an idea to tell me?" he asks, signing _idea?_ at the same time.

"Oh, right!" He pushes his plate of chicken bones aside and leans over towards Steve. "I'm looking to phase out of fishing. You should sell me half your business."

That isn't what Steve was expecting to hear, and it takes him a moment. "Wh-what?"

"I'll be your business partner. Help you rent the boats. Fix up the boats. Steve, you know me, I'm great at boats!"

"You wanna help me rent boats?"

Clint shrugs. "Why not? I can still hang out on the marina and talk to this guy—" He throws a used napkin at Thor's forehead with devastating precision. "—and that gives you more time off. Or you can open a second location!"

Steve shakes his head a little. The idea of a second location occurred to him once, about six years ago, and the idea had sent him into an anxiety spiral for a while after. Somehow he's not sure having Clint will make that a better prospect. However, he's honestly intrigued by Clint's proposal.

"Let's talk sometime after the season," Steve says. "Deal?"

"Hell yeah. Nice." Clint grins at him brightly, while Nat smiles with muted pleasure. Maybe if they can work this out, both Steve and Clint can make someone they care about happy.

When they're both stuffed to the gills and ready to roll around on the floor and moan, Steve pokes at Bucky's leg to get his attention. "You wanna get out of here?" They're sitting at another table, having made the rounds, their chairs and also their sides pressed close together.

Bucky nods, his head moving against Steve's shoulder. "Yeah. I think I'm ready to collapse. I can drive us back to mine? Is your truck okay here overnight?"

"Yeah, it'll be fine. Not really a high-crime neighborhood here."

Steve stands and pulls Bucky with him. They make a round of goodnights, Steve teases his young employees about not being hungover in the morning, and Nat kisses both of them on the cheek. With their arms around each other, Bucky's hand brazenly in Steve's back pocket, they head out the front door and to Bucky's SUV.

While they drive the five minutes or so back to the house, Steve pulls up Spotify and starts to play some music, soft and mood-setting, so that when they're out of the car they slot back together and stroll their way into the house.

An hour or so later they're in bed, lights out, and this time the door is open and Sully's softly snoring at the foot of the bed.

"Thanks for tonight." Bucky's voice is soft, sleepy, but Steve can hear a smile, too.

"It was really nice having you there," Steve says, "so thanks for coming."

"They all seemed okay with me being there."

Steve smiles and shifts, snuggling deeper into Bucky's side. He kisses Bucky's neck. "They were really glad you came." That's not everything, and Steve takes a moment to be brave. "I've never wanted to bring someone before. In all the years we've done that night."

Bucky's quiet for a while, but this silence is warm and inviting, a blanket Steve wants to wrap around their shoulders. "Well, lucky me."

"Lucky us." And yeah. That about sums it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Talli](https://twitter.com/tallihoozoo) for the great art in this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

"Do you have a sweatshirt? It'll be way cooler out there than when you usually take out the boat."

Bucky, leaning against the back door, sweatshirt in hand, rolls his eyes. "Yes, Steve. I have my sweatshirt." Outside the inset window, Steve's truck waits for them covered in early morning condensation. Steve has free parking permits for the whole town stickered on his window, which come in handy when they end up needing to park in the street.

Steve comes out of the bathroom, still adjusting his shorts. Nice to know how comfortable he’s gotten in Bucky’s space. "Good, good. You grab a book or something, too? No cell service or wifi that far out." He grabs his own sweatshirt off the kitchen counter, under which sits a book; he holds it up and shakes it at Bucky, like Bucky doesn't know what a fucking book is.

"You can just read to me if I get bored," Bucky says, smiling like a little punk. Steve tells him as much right before dropping a quick peck. "I also have the binoculars you bought me, I took the Dramamine already, and I have a backpack with water _and my book_ —" Steve snorts "—and I got cash out of the machine yesterday." He pokes Steve's chest. "Why are you being like this? Hm? Are you _nervous_?"

Looking entirely too cute for someone who is so annoying right now, Steve ducks his head and runs his hand over the back of his neck. His hair falls over his forehead, adding to the sheepish charm. "Been a long time since I took someone out on a date."

And shit, _shit_. Excruciatingly cute, _damn it_. "We went to dinner a couple times," Bucky offers, putting his things down to step forward and slide his arms around Steve's waist. "So it's not _that_ long, is it?" He noses Steve's cheek.

"No. But we were doin' that as friends, too. And this is a bigger deal." Steve kisses Bucky's cheek. "This is new for us."

Bucky sighs, trying to quiet that fluttery feeling in his chest. "You're ridiculous, man." He squeezes Steve, kisses his nose, then steps back. "Come on, didn't you say these are really tight launch times?"

They say goodbye to Sully, who barely lifts his head from the spot of sun in the front room, and climb into Steve's truck to head into town. They drive past the marina, and Bucky frowns.

"I thought—?"

"No, Arthur's got his own launch a bit south of town."

Bucky stares at Steve. "And you thought I was gonna figure that out and bail on your boats for his?"

Steve laughs, shrugs. "I was flirting. It didn't need to make sense."

It's not even ten minutes away from the center of Shield Bay before Bucky sees the big sign; he wonders how he's missed it all these months.

> ARTHUR'S WHALE  
>  RENTALS

"Arthur's Whale... Rentals?"

"Kids. Every year." Steve shakes his head, clucks his tongue. "It should say _Whale Watch and Boat Rentals_."

Bucky snickers. "That makes more sense. Maybe Arthur here should put a little money into a teenager-proof sign."

"I'm close to getting the town to foot the bill, honestly," Steve says, turning into the parking lot. It's pretty busy, a late-summer rush on the whales. Families mill around their cars, buckling children into car seats after their early morning trip. A trio of teens holler at each other as they skip and run to the dock. Once Steve finds a parking spot, they grab their things for the excursion and book it up the gangway.

"Steve!" The call comes from the shack at the top of the gangway. Bucky always thought Steve was big, Thor was bigger, but this man almost puts them both to shame. Part of it might be his dark, curly hair, barely restrained by a few strands pulled back and tied behind his head.

"Hi there, Arthur," Steve says, giving him a hug. "Thanks for letting us join the trip today." He turns to Bucky, quickly introducing them. "I couldn't let him go home without seeing some whales."

Arthur holds his hand out to shake. "You ever seen whales before, Bucky?" The baritone drop of his voice has a playful tease tucked into it.

"Just skeletons in the museum," Bucky admits, shaking Arthur's hand. He's got a strong grip, much like all the people Bucky's met this summer who work with boats in some way. The bared skin on his arm is dark and tattooed, and Bucky's not sure he would have ever expected the man Steve's occasionally spoken of throughout the summer to be this incredible specimen. "I'm really looking forward to this."

"Awesome." Arthur gives Steve a playful shove. "Go on then, we're shipping out in five minutes."

Steve grins and grabs Bucky's hand to pull him aboard. There are two decks, but Steve stays on the lower deck and leads Bucky along to the bow. It's crowded there, particularly with little kids who are bouncing around, running from the railing to their parents and back again. "Come here," Steve says, guiding Bucky against the rail, facing out to the calm water of this small bay. Bucky closes his eyes and breathes in the air, though his breath catches when he feels Steve press against his back, his hands come up to cover Bucky's on the railing.

The engines start up and set everything rumbling; the kids screech more excitedly, and in the flurry of chaos, Steve kisses the back of Bucky's neck. Bucky shivers, wondering if he should get his sweatshirt out already.

"So," Bucky says, just loud enough to be heard as the boat starts moving. "That's Arthur, hm?"

"Mmhmm." Bucky can feel Steve's lips still on his neck, more than he hears the sound.

"You didn't care about my business at all, did you?" he teases. "Just didn't want me to start an arrangement with the _other_ hunky boat rental guy in town."

Steve snickers, his whole body shaking for a moment. "Knew you were gonna say that," he mutters. "Arthur has a very nice wife, and if he swings towards men, he's still not a cheater."

"Well, yes. That would probably put me off trying to fuck him," Bucky agrees. He turns a bit in Steve's arms, just enough so he can look up at his boyfriend and smile. "I think I made the right choices this summer, regardless."

"Good answer." Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and squeezes, and they fall into silence as the boat taxis past a few sets of buoys, their speed increasing gradually, until the wind in Bucky's face is mixed with the mist of the waves.

Announcements over a PA system welcome them, give safety instructions, and let them know what snacks and drinks are available for cash purchase inside the cabin. Bucky doesn't move, holding on to the railing while Steve holds onto him. The sun is high and bright, but the air has gotten much cooler as they head farther from the coast. For now Steve's arms are enough to keep Bucky warm.

About a half-hour later, the first shouts to the starboard side indicate they've found some sea creatures. Bucky and Steve have settled at port, so they don't see them right away, but one little girl's delighted scream of " _Dolphins!_ " is enough to let them know what they're missing.

"Most likely they're actually porpoises," Steve says, for Bucky's ears only. "There's Atlantic White-Sided dolphins that will come up this far north, but it's still a bit early for them."

Sure enough, Arthur comes on the speakers to proclaim them as harbor porpoises, and Bucky sneaks a glance around Steve to see the little girl's head drop, sad to be wrong about dolphins. "Awww, poor kiddo."

Steve looks, too, and he chuckles. "Don't worry. There be monstrous creatures yet to see."

Bucky blinks. "Did you just say 'there be monstrous creatures'?"

"Yep."

"And you _didn't_ say it in a piratey voice?"

"I'm not a pirate, Bucky. I'm a legitimate businessman on these seas."

Bucky catches his laugh, but he can't hold back his smile. "Mmm. I suppose. You don't have a peg-leg or an eyepatch, so." He sighs, feigning dismay. "I suppose if you _were_ a pirate that'd be a bit disappointing."

"I'll peg you," Steve mutters low in Bucky's ear.

And while he knows that isn't _strictly_ the correct use of the term, Bucky can't say anything in return but, "Yeah, you better."

Steve's saved from further piratey discussion by the sudden sight of an enormous body rising to the surface just off port. Bucky _gasps_ , somehow never expecting anything to actually be so large.

"Humpback!" Steve calls out, away from Bucky's ear, and he raises a hand, presumably to indicate where it's been spotted. Not that anyone who's settled at the port rail with them doesn't already realize it's there.

The whale breaks the surface and exhales a misty gust of condensation, and then, just beyond the first, there's another, and then a bit ahead of those, a third takes a breath, and Bucky is overwhelmed, suddenly, by this casual display of nature. People are starting to crowd in, and Bucky steps back to let the little kids get a good look.

From there, the whales start popping up more often. Steve explains that the boat's taking them on a wide, circular path, and that they've also heard reports from other boats in the area, so it's not quite as random as it might appear to the average passenger. They see another two humpbacks, a finback, and a right whale, which is apparently a rarer sighting.

For as much as he's awed by all the whales, Bucky soon finds that watching Steve is just as entertaining. His face lights up not just when he sees these creatures, but as the kids get excited, as the adults start to let down their guard. Steve is excited to see other people excited, and it softens Bucky, puts hearts in his eyes. He stands back more, letting Steve talk to the kids about the whales. Bucky finally finds a cushioned seat and takes it, sitting back to watch this wonderful man, his boyfriend, thrive under this attention.

After about an hour, when the boat is circling back and the kids are dragging their parents inside for candy and snacks, Steve comes to sit next to Bucky, breath whooshing out of him.

"You have fun, Professor Rogers?" Bucky asks, taking Steve's hand and lacing their fingers together.

Steve's hand curls into Bucky's. "I did. But I hope _you_ had fun, too? It was pretty active today. Don't always get that many showing up for us."

"You seemed to enjoy teaching everyone about what we were seeing."

As Bucky hoped, Steve's cheeks turn pink—pinker, considering he's already flushed from the wind—and he ducks his head. "The kids are great. They're always so excited and ready to learn something."

"For some reason I didn't expect you to know so much about it all. Do you go on these a lot?"

"I do live, ah, at the ocean." Steve grins. "My first job here was on whale watch boats. I have friends who are fishermen. It rubs off on me."

"Well, no matter how it got there, I like seeing you show it off." Bucky leans over and kisses his cheek. "That was just as much fun as seeing the actual whales and shit." They sit, just holding hands and letting the other passengers wander around them, and for a while, it's nice to be in the relative quiet. This isn't new to them, the ability to be silent together, and Bucky loves it, loves that they are so comfortable and easy together.

With about twenty minutes left to get back to dock, they get up and mosey over to the snack bar, where Steve treats them to a couple of ice cream sandwiches. They eat at a little table, laughing at the ice cream that smears their lips, and Steve gets a bit on Bucky's nose.

"You're a child." Bucky laughs, wiping up the mess with a napkin. "There's a reason I stopped dating twenty-year-old twinks, Steven."

"Hey," Steve says, "I was adorable when I was a twenty-year-old twink."

"Maybe I would've been into you when we were twenty, too." Bucky shrugs. "But you would definitely just have been a summer fling then." He gives Steve a soft smile. "So I'm glad it's been a long time since we were that young and dumb."

Steve smiles back with a similar soft smile. "Well. Not so long for you, huh?"

Bucky closes his eyes. "Knew you were gonna say that," he mutters, and then they're both laughing like the not-so-young, definitely-still-dumb idiots that they are.

* * *

Bucky's car is mostly packed. He has a small overnight bag with clothes for tomorrow, food and treats for Sully, and odds and ends—his chargers, a book, and a water bottle for the car—but the big stuff is all loaded. A professional cleaner is coming in after he leaves, but he's taken out the trash, washed the dishes, stripped the bed, done a thorough sweep out of the beachful of sand they tracked in, that sort of thing.

For his last night, he's staying at Steve's. It's bittersweet.

An empty pizza box with congealed cheese and a few loose bits of mushrooms and sausage lies open next to them, and they're curled into each other, Sully splayed out to their side. Bucky's trying not to think about the drive home tomorrow. He's not doing well with that, though, as visions of Steve growing smaller in his rearview mirror run through his head.

"We should make a plan, Buck," Steve says, his fingers stroking lightly over Bucky's arms. "So we at least know how long we gotta wait." Clearly, Steve's failing as much as Bucky at not thinking past tonight.

Bucky takes a deep breath. "Okay, well. There's something I should tell you first."

Before Bucky can start, Steve breaks in. "You're a ghost," he says, delightfully deadpan, "who only lives for the summer, and you didn't mean to fall for me—"

"You're so weird," Bucky giggles, which takes a little anxiety out of the moment. "If I'm a ghost, who takes care of Sully, huh?" Steve starts to answer, so he covers Steve's mouth with his hand. "Hush. This is kinda serious, hon."

Steve nods. "Sorry," he says as Bucky pulls his hand away.

"It's okay."

"We'll come back to how you just called me 'hon' later, yeah?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Absolutely not. So, here's the thing," he says, steamrolling ahead, "I'm gonna quit my job."

His boyfriend moves quickly, a large side of blonde, bearded beef shifting over and sitting up with a speed Bucky doesn't expect, and it rocks him back. "You're _what_?"

With a bit of a shrug, Bucky repeats, "I'm quitting my job. I decided that, like, weeks ago. When Becca was here." He sighs, sitting up and looping his arms around his knees. "That was the whole... the whole point of coming out here for the summer, y'know? It was a sabbatical where I needed to decide if I was going back."

Steve blinks, at a loss for words for a few moments. "W-wow. Buck, that's... is that great? Is it a good decision for you?"

"Yeahhh." Except that doesn't sound like it is, he knows, so he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries again. "Yes. It's the _right_ decision for me." He turns to the empty pizza box and reaches for a piece of sausage, popping it in his mouth before he continues. "I've been in this job my whole career, and I know a career doesn't have to be your passion or fulfill your deepest desires, but it drains me too much now. I don't want to spend another fifteen years doing it."

His body deflates, and he lists to one side, as if they're on the ocean. An arm goes around his shoulder, and he leans into Steve, who kisses the top of his head. "Sounds like a really brave decision, Buck. I'm proud of you."

For some reason those words are a fist around his heart, and he feels everything inside clench. The pressure builds and pushes up into his head, behind his eyes, and the urge to cry is almost too much. "Fuck," he gasps, and buries his face in Steve's chest. He doesn't know what the hell is wrong with him. He made this decision _weeks_ ago. He feels _good_ about this decision. "What the _fuck_."

Steve gathers him in closer, holding him tight, softly murmuring comfort in Bucky's ear. "Hey, hey. It's okay. It's a big deal. It can be a good thing and still be something to mourn." He kisses Bucky's earlobe lightly, but doesn't say more.

After a few minutes of deep, shaky breaths, maybe a few tears leaking out, and many more soothing strokes from Steve's hands, Bucky sits back up and scrubs at his face. "Sorry," he whispers, to which Steve tells him there's no need to apologize. "Yeah, but I wanted a nicer night with you."

"You telling me about this makes for a nice night, I promise." Steve kisses him softly, reminding Bucky why he wanted a nice night with his boyfriend; everything about Steve reminding him why Steve _is_ his boyfriend.

"I still think we should figure out a plan," Steve says, holding out an arm and inviting Bucky to settle against his chest again. "Even if you don't know exactly what your next few months will look like. We can plan to, I dunno, FaceTime every so often or whatever?"

"Yeah, definitely." He takes Steve's hand, pressing their palms together while running the tips of his fingers from his other hand over Steve's strong digits. "I need to give the company four weeks' notice. I know that much for sure."

"Four weeks, huh? I always thought it was two weeks." He huffs a humorless laugh. "Though when I've had someone leave mid-season, I'm lucky if I get two days. Two hours, even."

Bucky nods. "Mm, two weeks is still pretty standard, but between my level and the fact that, well, I've just been _gone_ for three months? I feel like I owe them that much. I've seen other people give three or four weeks and the transitions have always been pretty smooth, so I think that's the right play for me. I don't want to rock the boat."

"I can confirm that boat-rocking is not preferred."

"Har-har, Cap'n."

Steve squeezes his hand. "I'm just saying, I know what I'm talking about!" The laughter is less sarcastic now, and Steve's strong arms envelop Bucky, tucking him in close. Bucky burrows in, feeling safe not just in this position, but with Steve in general, given how vulnerable he's just been. It's not something Bucky is used to feeling, and he doesn't want the feeling to go away.

They lie together, Bucky drifting a little, protected in Steve's arms, until Steve's touches get more deliberate, more intimate, and yes—this is why he came here tonight, why they're spending one last possible evening together. He turns his face to Steve's, and they kiss, long and languid, no rush because they want to extend tonight as much as possible.

Later, when their shirts are off and their pants are bunched below their knees, they stumble to their feet while trying not to let go of each other. They kick off everything before heading to Steve's bed, closing the door behind them.

Bucky doesn't know exactly what he feels for Steve yet. He's not ready to put words to it, beyond the fact that he will call Steve his boyfriend and feel warm whenever he thinks it. But this night, more than any other time they've been together, feels like making love. Steve worships him, finding every blessed inch of skin to kiss, from the arch of his foot to the hollows of his throat. The exacting attention sets Bucky's blood on fire as he clenches and squirms and reaches to give back to Steve the same. Their kisses are slow and reverential, adoration sweeping from their fingertips and leaving Bucky's skin buzzing. It's almost obscene when his breath grows shallow and harsh, the lust overtaking everything at last, but he's not alone, Steve is with him, and after Steve brings him off, Bucky returns the favor with what he hopes is the same care and affection. At the end, Bucky rests his head on Steve's stomach, looking at the evidence of Steve's pleasure as Steve runs his fingers through Bucky's hair.

The moments are long, as they hoped and planned, but finally Bucky wants to speak. Wants to promise. "October," he says, his voice low in the quiet of the room. "Let me give the four weeks, and then I'll be up in the first half of October for a few days. We can plan the rest from there."

"Deal," Steve murmurs back, matching his volume. "Just confirm the exact dates when you can, and I'll make sure I have nothing to do at all." His fingers stop moving, then retreat. "For now, come here. Hold me before you leave."

And that's a request he can't deny. He grabs a washcloth from the nightstand for a perfunctory clean up, and then scoots up, pulling the sheet with him, spooning around Steve and holding him close. He falls asleep with his lips on the back of Steve's neck and his hand over Steve's heart, lulled by their syncing heartbeats.

In the morning they make love again, before they even say a word to each other. They shower together, cook up a good breakfast as they move around each other in the kitchen, eat while pressed close together on the counter stools. Bucky finishes packing the last of his things from yesterday in his overnight bag, gets Sully ready for the drive.

They hold each other on Steve's porch for a long time, not saying anything. They kiss once, twice, laugh at themselves, and then kiss again before Bucky steps away to get in the SUV.

They don't say goodbye. "See you later," Bucky says, out the open window. Steve comes up and kisses him again, quick and hard. "Later," Bucky says again, "hon." Then he swallows and looks forward, putting the car in drive, and before he can talk himself out of responsibility, he gently presses down the gas pedal and proceeds to leave Shield Bay.

* * *

> _**Bucky:** Home safe. Sully misses you._

> _**Steve:** I miss Sully too. Thanks for texting._

* * *

> _**Steve:** Found a shirt you left here, if you realize it's missing._

> _**Bucky:** I knew where it was. xx_

* * *

> _**Bucky:** 4wks given. Last day Thurs 10/8. Can be on your porch within 24 hours of that, sound good?_

> _**Steve:** That weekend is now yours. Rest of the world won't exist unless we want it to._

> _**Bucky:** We might need some places that deliver food to exist. Bonus if they drop it and run so we don't have to put on clothes again._

> _**Steve:** I'll see what I can do.  
>  Miss you, babe. _

> _**Bucky:** Miss you too, hon.  
>  (Still not gonna talk about that.)_

* * *

Before the past summer, a month could pass without much thought. While a day is marked by a night, and a week by the weekend, a month is more ephemeral, with one simply spilling into another with no pause in life to draw attention to its end. The last four weeks of Bucky's job, however, are interminable.

The days are long and busy, filled with finishing his current projects, helping to ramp up the person taking over his portfolio, helping his manager with the search for his replacement—probably Lewis, one of Bucky's reports; she's shown a lot of growth and ambition over the years. And all of that doesn't consider the resume he's putting together to try and figure out what to do next, the realization that any job that's going to be attractive to him won't be able to keep paying for his apartment, and generally wanting to be anywhere but Manhattan.

But "anywhere" is a lie. There's only one place he wants to be, and in his heart he knows it.

He rents a smaller SUV for this trip, since he doesn't need nearly as much stuff for a long weekend, and he knows he won't be traveling much once he arrives. He texts Steve halfway through the drive when he stops to let Sully pee, and the response is just a gif of Princess Anna squealing in joy, which makes him wonder if Steve has been taking Texting for Young People classes over the last month.

Bucky left around ten in the morning, so after a quick lunch and a walk with Sully, he's hitting the sign for Shield Bay at two-thirty. The four weeks away have been enough to transform the town. All signs of summer have vacated, and the decorations have shifted to fall, particularly to Halloween. It occurs to Bucky that they likely get some spillover tourism from Salem, which isn't too far away. Steve also told him about the leaf watchers who come every year. While Bucky is a week or so early for the peak of the changing colors, it will still make for a busy time in town.

When he drives past the marina, the Rogers Rentals shanty is still open for business, which means Steve found someone to run it while he takes the weekend off. Bucky can't help but grin at what this means for their time together.

At long, long last, he's pulling into the familiar driveway and parking carelessly in front of Steve's porch, eager to get out as soon as possible. Sully's excited as well, almost knocking Bucky over when Bucky goes to open the back door for him.

"Hey, it's my favorite good boy!"

Bucky looks up, startled, as he hadn't heard Steve come outside. He grins at the sight of Steve and Sully reuniting, but can't stay quiet too long. "And what am I, then?"

Steve gives Sully's head a quick rub, and then his attention snaps to Bucky, and his face splits into the widest grin Bucky has seen in a month. "You?" In a moment Steve is in front of him, hands cupping Bucky's face. "You're my favorite bad boy," he murmurs, and then kisses the breath from Bucky.

It's possible that entire seasons change before they pull away, breathing hard and staring into each other's eyes while their hands revisit familiar places to touch. Bucky laughs. "I _missed_ you. I didn't even realize how much."

"I thought today would never get here." Steve hugs Bucky close to him, hands roving over his back. "You're beautiful."

Bucky strokes Steve's beard. "This has grown out more," he says. He's seen it over FaceTime, but it's more obvious in person. "I like it. God, this has been the longest month."

"Well." Steve catches Bucky's hand as it strokes his beard, kisses the palm. "This is going to feel like the shortest weekend, so we shouldn't waste time just standing here."

Steve helps by grabbing Bucky's bags from the car and they head inside. Bucky notices just now, once Steve's not embracing him anymore, that there's a chill in the air, and he shivers slightly, then more, with a smile at the thought that he likely won't feel the cool air much this weekend.

"What do you want to do today? Are you tired from the drive?" Steve comes out of the bedroom, having dropped off the bags, and then goes into the kitchen and produces a pair of dog bowls, holding them out to Sully to sniff curiously. "Wasn't sure if you'd bring his ones from home up." Bucky grins and goes to fill one with water, putting it down for Sully to inspect further. He's never been too picky about what he eats out of, and this is no exception. Steve looks like he's going to bust with pleasure.

"Good thinking," Bucky says, pulling the gorgeous, grinning man to his side and kissing him softly. "I'd brought some travel ones, but this is better. Bigger, especially." He kisses Steve again. "Hi."

"Hi." Steve moves to stand more directly in front of Bucky, one arm going around Bucky's waist, the other hand coming up to stroke his cheek. "I love that you didn't do anything to your hair," he confesses, touching the shaggy ends and dancing fingertips over the gray at his temples.

"Nah, I like it like this." He remembers Steve's earlier question. "I'm a little tired right now, but we could go out to dinner, see anyone who's around? Not too late, though. I have plans for you in bed tonight."

Steve's grin turns wicked, which definitely delights Bucky. "I'm looking forward to that. Dinner out sounds good. I can let the crew know they've got a chance to say hello tonight, but no guarantees the rest of the weekend." They laugh and move together to the couch, collapsing into it as one, limbs quickly entwining. Bucky's head rests on Steve's chest, and Steve's fingers go back to stroking through Bucky's hair.

They talk about the last month. Even though they've called and texted fairly regularly, somehow their calls never focused much on their daily lives. Sometimes it was phone sex—a couple of times it was FaceTime sex—but a lot of time they just missed each other together, and tried not to think about how many days it was before they could see each other again. So now, they catch up on the details. Steve tells Bucky about how the town shifts for the fall season, what it means for his business compared to others'. Bucky describes the last few weeks of work, saying goodbye to co-workers and people he's known well over a decade. He admits, finally aloud, that leaving has been harder than he expected, even if he knows it's the right decision.

"That makes sense," Steve says. "But I told you before, it's a brave decision, and I'm proud of you. Have you given any thought to what comes next? Or is it still too early to know?"

Bucky takes a deep breath; the time has come, apparently. "I've thought about it," he says, "but I... I don't know. I think..." He looks at Steve, who just looks back, patient and curious. "I'm breaking my lease on my apartment. It was due to renew in February, but I gave two months' notice on that, so I'll have to be gone by the end of November."

Steve's eyes widen. "So, job _and_ apartment hunting," he says. "Big changes for Bucky Barnes."

"Hah, yeah." Bucky swallows, steeling himself for this next part. He knows this is the best time to tell Steve. He's been prepared to tell Steve immediately, but it still feels like _a lot_ to say. "I... I want to move up here. To Shield Bay, or at least a nearby town."

He doesn't say more, because this has been gnawing at him for weeks, not knowing how Steve will take this decision, if he'd find it too fast or too presumptuous. Would he feel possessive of this town? Any number of ridiculous thoughts have gone through Bucky's brain about this choice he wants to make, and finally he can say it and find out how plausible it really is.

"You." Steve looks dumbfounded, but not upset, certainly. "You want to live up here?" He runs a hand over his mouth, clearly gathering his thoughts. "It's not like the summer all year long, right? The winter can be a little rough, just because we get fewer tourists."

Bucky nods. "Yeah, I got that. But, um. I really loved it up here this summer. Not just this town, but all the places around here where I went exploring. I got back into the city and it felt... wrong. Even after a couple weeks."

"Well, I certainly am not the person to tell you not to leave the city for a coastal New England town." Steve smiles, but it's still not the enthusiastic grin Bucky had been hoping for. "Especially not because that means it's a lot easier to see you." His smile twitches toward the enthusiasm Bucky had been wanting. "I'm honestly thrilled at the idea, just trying to keep it cool." Bucky rolls his eyes and puts his hand up in Steve's face, pushing him away playfully.

"Will you help me find a place to rent, just to start me off up here?" Bucky asks, tweaking Steve's nose. "And I'm _not_ angling to move in with you, Steve Rogers, so just get that idea out of your head."

"Oh god," Steve laughs, and he squeezes Bucky tight to him. "Yeah, we should not be moving in together yet. If ever. But still..." Steve turns his head to the window, and Bucky follows his gaze, taking in the treetops swaying in the breeze. "What if we break up? You still gonna want to be living up here? I'd hate for us to realize it really was just some summertime fun and be stuck here with an ex running around everywhere."

Based on how he's feeling now—and how he thinks Steve is feeling—that seems unlikely, but also practical to discuss. "I did consider that." Bucky sits up a bit more on his own and starts ticking off points on his fingers. "Obviously we don't live together right off the bat. And I don't _buy_ any home here yet, either. I probably could afford it, but that locks me in more than we want at this point. So I rent, start with a shorter lease or even month-to-month if the landlord is willing. That gives me flexibility to get the fuck outta here if you turn out to be a big jerk."

"Extremely likely," Steve says, grinning like an idiot.

Bucky pokes his chest. "Shush. Anyway. If I need to, I can find another idyllic coastal New England town with its own hunky boat rental guy. Or even move inland. I know there are lakes and shit to the west, so I can still figure something out there." Steve isn't the only draw of Shield Bay, even if he's the most attractive thing about it, but over the summer Bucky did learn one thing: water, he must live near water.

Steve nods. "All right, that makes sense. But, and hear me out here, what will you _do_?"

"Heh. Well." Bucky shrugs, a little sheepish. "Haven't figured that part out yet. But I can probably find some odd jobs up here? I can wait tables, or help stock and inventory stuff?" He makes a face. "Chop wood? Is that a thing? I could be a lumberjack."

"Oh my god, I need to see it. Grow a beard for me, please, and borrow some of my flannel." They both snicker like dorks, and Bucky considers coming back up for Halloween. He's about to ask what Steve does for the holiday when Steve continues. "But seriously. Um. Depending on when you got here, it might be slim pickings? But I can talk to some folks, of course. We could find you something as long as you're not looking to replace being a major ad exec."

Bucky stares at Steve for a second, not entirely sure if he's being serious right now. "Hon. I am _literally_ here because I don't want to replace that."

Steve stares back for a second, and then his lips curve up in a grin. "Okay. I'm _not_ letting it go this time."

It takes Bucky too long to realize what he's said. "Oh, _god_. Look, I just. Shut up. It doesn't mean shit. It means absolutely _nothi—_ " He's interrupted by Steve's mouth on his mouth. Steve's laughing as they kiss, and Bucky tries to grumble in return, annoyed that he's been outed as a pet-name sort of man far too early in this relationship.

"I like it, darlin'," Steve whispers softly, nipping at Bucky's lips. "I won't tease you, honest."

"You can, if you want. I'm ridiculous." He kisses Steve again. "And I'm going to find a place to live up here, find work around here, so you can hear me call you ridiculous things a lot more often."

Steve's beaming at that. "I like that. I like that a lot."

They kiss a little more and the conversation dissolves, to be continued at a later time. Bucky takes a quick shower, barely convincing Steve not to join him and to instead call up the locals to see who wants to go for dinner. When he gets out, Steve's waiting on the bed, texting with Sam, who has promised to drag at least Nat and Clint along, which is a good group in Bucky's eyes.

They're the first ones to arrive at the restaurant, settling in and starting off with some mini crab cakes. Nearly every table is taken, which Bucky's glad to see on a Friday night in October. The dining room is loud, buzzing with families and couples on dates, the crowd and noise distracting Bucky enough that it takes him a few minutes longer than it probably should have to recognize who is sitting just a couple tables away.

"Steve," he says, reaching across the table to tap his boyfriend's wrist, "is that—?" He nods in the couple's direction, then looks down while Steve peeks over his shoulder. He turns back, grinning.

"It is! You wanna go say hi?"

Bucky hesitates, wondering what he's going to say to complete strangers, but their house gave him the space to make the biggest decisions of his life. "Yeah, I do." He pushes his chair back and gets up, leaving Steve to hold the table. He approaches the couple, putting on his most charming advertising smile, then softens it as he clears his throat, catching the attention of the women diners.

"Excuse me," he says, looking between the white, blonde woman and her dark-skinned companion. They're familiar faces to him, as they probably should be by now, given how many weeks he spent looking at their family photos. "I'm James Barnes. I believe I just spent the summer in your beautiful home."

"Oh!" the black woman says, clearly surprised, and her wife looks stunned, and then she laughs, loud and bright. The first woman introduces herself as Maria, the blonde shakes his hand, offering her name as Carol, and Bucky tells them to call him Bucky, everyone does.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your dinner, but I wanted to thank you in person for letting me stay in your place. It was a really great experience."

Maria smiles warmly. "We're glad you had such a good time."

"You were just here through the summer, weren't you?" Carol asks, tilting her head. It's not enough to hide the fact that she's peering past Bucky, zeroing in on Steve, who's still sitting at the table, but turned a bit towards them now, even though he's on his phone.

"I was, yes. But I made some friends, thought I'd come back up for another quick visit this weekend."

Carol shares a glance with Maria, and they both look amused. "Friends," Carol repeats, a tinge of disbelief in her tone.

"Musta been pretty good friends," Maria remarks, sipping her beer, and Bucky, annoyingly, finds his cheeks heating.

"Everyone around here has been a pleasure to get to know," he says, but then there's a hand at his back, a large, comforting body at his side.

"Hello, ladies," Steve says, and the women beam up at Steve, and it's clear they know something they're not letting on. Not that it must be hard to figure out he and Steve aren't only friends, but there's still something else.

"So nice to see you, Steve," Carol says. "How was your season?"

Steve talks with Carol for a moment, while Maria turns to Bucky. "I'm glad it's him. We aren't particularly close, but he's been lonely for a while. When we came back, we heard pretty much right away that he'd met someone and was so much happier."

Bucky looks to Steve and feels a soft, dopey grin take over his face. "I'm a lot happier now that I've met him, too."

The four of them chat for a few more minutes, and then Sam arrives and demands a hug from Bucky, and Clint and Nat are close behind, so they part ways, with Bucky promising to stop by the next time he's visiting. Steve takes Bucky's hand as they head back to their table, and this time, instead of sitting across from each other, they sit side by side, their ankles hooked together.

Later in the evening, as they're finishing up their lobsters and laughing about a story Nat's sharing, Carol and Maria stop at their table to say goodnight. Carol leans down to speak quietly to Bucky.

"If you find you need more this weekend," she says, so sly, "we kept your box of condoms."

Bucky is speechless, blushing, and can't do more than stammer a goodbye as they wave and leave. While he's a little embarrassed, mostly he feels like he's been fully approved by the town, and the warmth spreads from his cheeks throughout his body, and he can't help but lean over and kiss Steve's cheek.

"We should tell them," he whispers into Steve's ear. "I think they'll be glad."

Steve catches his eye, lifting an eyebrow. "Yeah? I mean, they will, but you don't need to right off the bat."

Bucky starts to whisper back, but Natasha is quick to notice when anyone seems up to something. "What's all the conspiring about, boys?" Clint bats at her shoulder, hissing her name, and she flaps him away. "Spill!"

Steve just shrugs and gestures to Bucky, and Bucky looks at Steve for a long moment before turning to the other three with a big grin. "I quit my job. I'm breaking my lease. I'm gonna move up here. So, y'know, anyone got a lead on a place I can rent?"

They're loud in their cheering, toasts are given, and Steve has to swear to Sam at least three times that Bucky's not moving in with him immediately. At the end of the night, Sam drives them back to Steve's because they're in no shape to drive. They both kiss Sam's cheek as they stumble out of the car, making him laugh and call them idiots. Quickly enough they're back in the house, tumbling into bed.

Steve pulls Bucky close and pets his hair. "You know they're definitely going to bet on how long it takes you to move in with me," he says.

"Mmm. We can game the system. Get a cut for ourselves."

"You're the devil," Steve laughs as he starts to pull off Bucky's clothes. They don't talk much after that, but it's understandable. He's finally back home, after four long weeks away, and he's ready to enjoy every single moment.

"You got the cooler?"

"Sure do," Bucky calls out, his head in the freezer as he transfers ice packs into the aforementioned cooler, and then shuts and locks the top. "You got Sully's lifejacket?"

Sully's ears perk up at his name being called, the first time he's reacted in ages as he lies in a sunbeam in the living room, but when food isn't immediately put in front of him, his head drops back down.

"It's still in the truck," Steve says, bending down to rub Sully's head. The action's become so familiar, especially since Bucky and Sully spend most of their time at Steve's these days. "You ready for another boat ride, bud?" Sully licks at Steve's arm, which Bucky figures is a yes.

"Is it busy today? Did Clint tell you the numbers for the weekend?" Bucky checks to make sure the sunscreen is packed. He may have already checked twice. A few weeks ago he forgot and after the pain receded, Steve kept calling him "my little tomato."

Steve doesn't answer immediately. When Bucky looks back at him, he's checking his phone. "Everything good at the dock?"

"Hm?" Steve shakes his head. "Yeah, yeah." He puts his phone away, easy smile slipping out of work mode and back to Bucky. "Clint says there's good res going into the holiday, and we usually get a nice bit of foot traffic, so I think it'll be a good weekend." He chuckles, stepping over to Bucky and kissing his lips lightly. "I'm not really sad to be missing it."

Bucky beams back. "I'm not sad at all. I'm so glad you get the weekend off." An actual four-day weekend, over Memorial Day—it's not something Steve had ever expected to have, but since Clint bought half the company, Steve's had more time off, and they'd agreed to let Clint handle this first major weekend of the season to let Steve spend it with Bucky. Bucky shoulders the bag, leaving the cooler to Steve. "Okay, boys, let's get out there."

The drive down to the marina is slow. It's a busy weekend, and Bucky's glad for Steve's reserved parking spot, since the public parking overflows onto the street. Bucky gets Sully on his leash when they hop out of the truck, while Steve hefts out the cooler. Together they make their way down past the rental dock—Clint waves at them as they go by—and over to the personal slips.

At the end of the third dock, Steve's new boat, the _Brooklyn Kid_ , waits for them. Bucky's so glad Steve got it—he needed a new one for the fleet, but he had enough saved for one of his own, and Bucky had pointed out that with all the extra time Steve would have to enjoy it, it was the perfect time to invest in himself for a change. This isn't their first time heading out in it, but so far they've all been short trips. Today is a full-day adventure.

Well, a "full-day" that isn't starting until nearly eleven in the morning. Because they like to sleep in.

Maybe they don't sleep much while sleeping in, but that's neither here nor there.

"Beautiful day," Steve remarks as he starts to prepare his navigation chart for the day.

"It's warming up, finally," Bucky agrees. He's in charge of the equipment, making sure everything is stored where it's supposed to be and in working order. He follows a checklist Steve wrote out for him, tapping his phone as he goes along. When he's done, he stands by Steve at the cockpit, his hand coming up to run over Steve's back. "All set to go, Captain," he confirms, and with that, Steve gets the boat heading out of the marina and into open water.

They cruise around for a while, once they can get up to speed. Sully curls up as they zip through the water, sticking closer to stern where it's not as bouncy. Bucky settles at the bow and closes his eyes, happy to feel the wind on his face and smell the sea air rushing past him. Finally, Steve slows them as they turn into a bay, and then a cove off the bay. Bucky gets up and throws the anchor over, then stretches his back and takes a deep breath.

It's been six months. Six months since he sold off a lot of his possessions, said goodbye to city living, and moved into a small one-bedroom apartment over the garage of the town's baker, Bruce. He started off helping to plow driveways and deliver firewood with Sam, but then Sharon over at the grocery store found out he used to do advertising, and she asked him for his opinion on some ads they were going to run in the paper.

So now, Bucky's running his own freelance advertising all throughout the area, not just in Shield Bay, but up in Howling Trees—Dugan's was his first client there—and to the south in Dernier, and even up in New Hampshire for one of Carol's brothers. Even Arthur asked after Bucky's services, but Bucky had politely declined out of a sense of loyalty to Rogers Rentals.

Six months ago, he would have said he wanted nothing more to do with advertising for the rest of his life. Now, Bucky can tell it was just the clientele he needed to change. It's not to say folks around here are always easy clients, not at all. But these people are just trying to make a living—feed their families, their employees' families. No one is trying to line their pockets at the end of the day. He trades a lot of work for other services, like a gorgeous ham from Sharon at Easter, or drinks on the house whenever he and Steve have a date night at Dugan's. It's nice and slow, and it's the pace that Bucky's always needed in his life.

He looks back towards Steve, who is opening the cooler and pulling out the subs they'd packed for lunch. "Hungry?" he asks, accepting the sandwich Steve's offering.

"Starving. Did all the work driving us out here while you just took a nap."

Bucky tuts and lightly swats at Steve's arm with the wrapped-up sub. "I was awake the whole time." He may have dozed off, actually, but he'll never admit that.

"Uh-huh. I tried to get your attention when we crossed a pod of dolphins. No response."

"Dolphins are boring now," Bucky lies, hoping that hides his disappointment. "I only respond to whales that are bigger than humpbacks."

Steve's look has him pinned, but he holds his ground and stares back, and eventually Steve just smirks and tugs him towards the bow. "Come on, Ahab. Let's eat."

After they've had their fill—and Sully's had the leftovers—they take off their shirts and slather sunscreen over each other, stretching out on the deck to sunbathe. It's quiet out here, save the bluetooth speakers playing something smooth and low off Steve's phone and the lapping water along the hull, the occasional bird. Something about the peace of this moment nudges at Bucky deep inside, so he takes a moment to prepare himself, and then takes Steve's hand and turns to him.

"Stevie," he murmurs, "you awake?" The subs and the sun are probably the best lullaby for his boyfriend, outside of a thorough fucking. Which is on the itinerary for later.

"Mmm, yeah?" Steve shifts and turns, too, smiling at Bucky as their eyes meet. "Whassa?"

Bucky chuckles and kisses Steve's nose. "I should move in with you. Officially and shit." He doesn't look away from Steve, waits for the words to really sink in. It takes a few more moments than usual, but his eyes widen and his lips start curving up.

"What? Really?" He leans closer, and Bucky can smell the onions from lunch, but he doesn't care. " _Really_?"

"You think we're ready?" Bucky asks, a little cheeky. Steve, for approximately two months now, has been making it abundantly clear that he's ready for Bucky to move in. He hasn't said so quite so bluntly, but he's been including Bucky in decisions around the house, like getting his opinion on a new addition, which Bucky suspects is meant to be his office—there was even a door to the outside on the plans, which would make it ideal for meeting clients.

Bucky hasn't called him out on it yet, since frankly by the second month living up here, he was spending more nights sleeping at Steve's than at the apartment. At this point he'll go up to a week before he goes back to the apartment, and then it's really just to pack new clothes for the next week. But it still feels fast, until he remembers that they've essentially been dating for just about a year now, even if it took them a few months to admit it.

Steve narrows his eyes at the sass, but he doesn't stop grinning. "Buck, you are welcome to call my home your home as soon as you'd like. I'm beyond ready to know I'm coming home to you every night."

Ah, _well_. Bucky grips the back of Steve's head and pulls him in for a kiss. It's deep, it's meaningful, and it's Bucky's way of screaming _yes, yes, yes!_ so that he won't disturb the dolphins.

They finally part, breathless, and Steve cups Bucky's cheek. "God, I love you so much."

Steve's eyes shine with it, and Bucky smiles back, wide and bright. "I love you, too." He giggles a little. "My shit's already all packed at the apartment." Steve starts to laugh, so Bucky further admits, "And I've been bringing more clothes over the last couple weeks. And all of Sully's stuff is at yours now."

"In the spirit of honesty—" Oh, this can't be good. "—I may have suggested to Bruce that he put an ad out for a summer season rental like normal." Bucky can't even pretend to be mad about that. They both laugh harder, clutching at each other until they're back to kissing, necking like teenagers who stole away on their parents' boat for the day.

Except it's _their_ boat. Steve never said, explicitly, but that's why the boat is named the _Brooklyn Kid_ , Bucky knows that. It's a name that can apply to both of them, but not until Bucky was ready to claim it. He has been, though, since Steve first told Bucky he loved him on a more mild January day over ice cream as they strolled down the sidewalk from Drake's. And then, since they had to go back into Drake's, giggling like idiots, to get a new cone for Bucky after he'd dropped his—not out of surprise, but out of annoyance that Steve had said it first. He's been ready since Steve got up in the middle of the night when Sully was throwing up after eating something outside and cleaned it up without a single complaint, just concern for the old boy's health.

Bucky's been ready since he spent a summer falling in love with Steve Rogers, even though love was the last thing he'd expected to find when he escaped his life for a few months. And now that he's finally claiming it, he's ready to embrace the life he's always been waiting to live.

🚤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, it's all over! Thanks again to [Talli](https://twitter.com/tallihoozoo) and [Emily](https://twitter.com/seasaltstories) for their beautiful art that really helped bring Bucky's first summer in Shield Bay alive! 
> 
> Also, again, huge hugs and thanks to [Em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theemdash) for pushing through this beta consistently and with warmth and love even as I pushed back two or three times on the same sentence. 
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has already left kudos and comments as of the posting of this final chapter, and to everyone else to do so in the future! I try to write for myself, first and foremost, but I can't deny that the response from readers is a huge boost! 
> 
> I'm not ready to say goodbye to these two forever, so who knows? Maybe there'll be more from them in the future!
> 
> 🌊 ☀ 🍑
> 
> **BONUS MATERIAL:**  
>  The working title of this fic (and what showed on my slide) was "We're Gonna Need a Bigger Butt".
> 
> Other titles considered—while growing ever closer to my deadline—were:
> 
> •"Boaty McBoatfic"  
>  •"FWB - Friends With Boats (and Benefits)"  
>  •"boats and bootycalls"

> 
> Also on the claim slide was this Word Count: "currently about 3K, anticipating 25K when complete". Uhhhh, oops. Hopefully none of you will mind me missing that mark by about, oh, 20K? LOL


End file.
